


oceans

by mayumichan143



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Angst, Attempted Suicide, Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Reader, I suck at summaries I'm sorry, I'm not sure where this takes place in the timeline I'm sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Life and Death situations, Nicknames, No use of y/n, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, alcohol mention, brief temper tantrums, can you tell i'm projecting, only because it kinda goes 0-100 real quick, slow burn kinda?, some characters might be ooc so I'm sorry about that too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayumichan143/pseuds/mayumichan143
Summary: The pressure of fame.The pressure of success.The pressure of the ocean.It all ends the same, doesn't it?Who cares which one you chose if it meant you could finally be free.





	1. you call me out upon the waters

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream some time ago and ran with it before it quickly outran me and spiraled out of control, as most things do. Please bear with me as I work to sort out this story and get used to this platform, being as this is the first thing I've posted on AO3 and the first thing I've ever posted in a looooooooong time, so I'm sorry if this turns out terrible. 
> 
> A little warning, this was supposed to be a oneshot that quickly got out of hand, so I'm sorry if it seems... off. If I have a chance, I'll try to rewrite it better in the future, I just wanted to start getting this thing out there before I chickened out. 
> 
> Other than the alternate titles accompanied with each chapter, the chapter titles and story title are taken from the song "Oceans" by Hillsong UNITED, great song, btw. Also, no Guzma in this one, but ya boi will be making an appearance in the next one so stay tuned! And thank you so much for reading!

one | **_a leap of faith_**

It had to be the worst storm Ula’ula has seen in a dog’s age. 

The torrential wind howls a deafening song that whips your hair into a frenzy, empty eyes reflecting the stormy horizon encompassing the island and what you guessed was all of Alola. The dark, heavy clouds cover the blue sky you’d grown so accustomed to as its rain pelts the ground and your surroundings, leaving everything cold in its wake.

You sure picked an awful day to end your life, huh? 

It _was_ rather fitting; a morbid thought you embraced staring out at the cresting waves just below your perch, allowing the perpetual rain of Route 17 to douse you, leaving you as heavy as your heart felt.

_Not now,_ you’re quick to scold yourself.

Holding in a breath you hoist yourself over the cold, metal railing separating passersby from an inevitable tumble down the steep slope, swinging your legs over one by one until your feet find purchase on the precariously muddied perch. One wrong move could send you tumbling into the unforgiving depths of the— 

Oh, wait. That was the point. 

The relatively remote location was the obvious choice for your self-induced demise. No one would dare (or bother) getting this close to Po Town with Team Skull lurking about. Not to mention the mess that came along with crossing paths with the often misguided youths of Alola; something that was often more trouble than it was worth. This would work out in your favor, thankfully. No chance of anyone finding you prematurely before your plans could come to fruition. No chance of anyone trying to convince you from taking a leap otherwise. (Other than Nanu down at the police station, but you’d managed to slip by him just fine.)

No, you couldn’t stop now, you couldn’t afford to get caught. 

It was better this way.

It was better this way.

It was better this way.

The storm brews louder and the waves of the ocean lap higher and higher up the cliff face, angrier, as if beckoning you. It was as if Mother Nature was calling you into her <strike>warm</strike> cold embrace as daunting a sight as it was. It could all be over in mere moments, and all you had to do was-

Take… 

The… 

_Leap!_

A shudder courses through you, shaking you to your core. Unconsciously gripping the drenched material of your shirt, you attempt to steady the hammering of your heart against the fist that lay across it. 

_Don’t be scared. Don’t be scared,_ you silently plead with yourself, finding the resolve that carried you there slowly begin to slip through the cracks of your carefully crafted facade. 

Strike that. _Slowly_ was a gross understatement.

It wasn’t fair. 

All of your life was spent at the behest of another; day in and day out you were never allowed freedom or choice, to live a life that you wanted and in order to escape that fate you _still_ had to give it up? 

Your heart trembles at the injustice of it all. 

Why _you?_

And why did you have to think about that _now?_ Circumstances aside, it won’t matter after this. 

Uttering a prayer to the guardian deities you steel your convictions, taking a deep, steadying breath. And with the remainder of your fleeting strength you let go, the feather-light feeling of falling tickling your chest as your eyes flutter shut, just as the sound of the crashing waves drowns out in the frigid darkness.


	2. the great unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I want to try to stick to an update schedule, but I didn't want you guys to have to go too long without getting a taste of ya boi so here is chapter two! Thank you so much for reading!

two |**_ beyond the looking glass_**

Light dances through the inky darkness, flickering, shimmering just out of reach. It’s so comforting, calling to you, beckoning you to reach out and grab it but your phantom limbs can’t find the strength to do so. So it hangs there, tempting, teasing you until it grows so bright it’s blinding and a groan fills the dead space between your ears at the intensity. 

Consciousness slowly comes to and bleary vision blinks to life, swirling with color and indistinguishable shapes until it steadily comes into focus, leaving your mind in charge of observing and processing the dilapidated room with no lack of cracks, holes and graffiti adorning the walls you find yourself in. Despite the disorientation that makes it feel as if your head is spinning on its axis, you manage to right yourself, pressing a palm against your temple to ease the throbbing headache threatening you into madness. 

_ Where… am I? _ And what the hell happened? 

Before you could contemplate further, a door swings open and bounces against the wall adjacent with a heavy slam as two oddly dressed girls saunter in the room, chattering animatedly amongst themselves. Shaking away the dissipating haze of confusion you recognize their black and white garb immediately: Team Skull. 

Oh, and perfect timing, they just noticed you, too.

“Hey! She’s awake, yo!” One of the girls points a manicured finger in your direction as the other turns her pink gaze to you in a wide-eyed stare. “Ayo, ** _girl!_ ** Get up, the boss wants to see ya!”

Instinctively, you reach for your waist to grab a Pokeball, fully prepared to battle your way out of the situation but when you grasp at nothing but air you’re suddenly reminded that the last thing you did before awakening was throw yourself off of a cliff and into the ocean right outside of Po Town with nothing but the clothes on your back. Well then, so much for that plan. 

Wait a second. 

_ I’m… alive? _

The two girls stalk up to you, grabbing hold of one arm each before literally hauling you out of bed despite your weak protests.

Your voice comes out in a strained whisper, “…w-where… I…” but your stammers don’t reach their ears, much to your chagrin.

“Come on, come on!” the auburn-haired girl on your left clutches your arm in hers as she leads the way, eyes unobscured by a monochrome bandana betraying the glee within their depths, “The boss doesn’t like to wait, y’know!”

They’re rushing you through the building so fast you can barely take in your surroundings or make a note of any noticeable distinctions you could identify later at the first chance of escape that came to you. Arriving at the second floor of the building, you ignore the conversation happening over your head, noticing the state of decay of what you assumed was a stately manor. Discarded boxes, piles of trash and ruined furniture dot the halls, making your stomach turn with every step. Is this really how they lived day in and day out?

The girls lead you out onto an open balcony — was this makeshift bridge leading to the roof even _ safe _ to cross? — and by the time you reach the other side, a strange sense of anxiety begins to creep up on you upon coming face to face with a lone door at the end of the hall. The wave of unnerving energy that seems to leak out from the cracks has sweat dotting your forehead, amplified by the echoing footfalls that acted as a countdown to whatever fate lay before you beyond the door, sealed with the knock the first Skull Grunt presses upon the hardwood.

“Boss!” Calls the first girl, almost singsong, as if taking enjoyment from the apprehension written on your face. “We brought the girl like you asked!”

Nothing happens immediately which makes your unease borderline unbearable. If the door had swung off its hinges you would at least know what type of person you were dealing with, but all this anticipation was doing nothing for your nerves. 

As if your thoughts acted as the trigger, the door opens with a creak, menacingly slow. Your breath catches in your throat when nothing but darkness greets you, but you have no time to reclaim it as you nearly tumble over from the sudden shove against your back, sending you into the unknown. 

Snickering follows you through the door as you steady yourself, the inky darkness proving too ill-lit to cast a glare at the perpetrator who stands in some general direction near what you assume is the wall since the light in the room decides to flick on at that moment, illuminating the space around you in an instant. The room is in a state of disorder much like the rest of the mansion; a large bed sits askew from the wall, multi-colored bottles adorning the shelf behind it, odd knick knacks and a treasure chest sit on the opposite side. At the head of the room is a raised platform with a violet armchair on its perch, and in it sits the man of the hour: Team Skull’s infamous boss.

With two-toned hair, tattoos running along his arms and donned in Team Skull accessories, everything about him screams _ danger,_ heightened by a scowl so deep and eyes so sharp you swear you can feel holes forming in your forehead. 

This man is not to be messed with. 

His gaze never leaves your still form as he addresses your escorts with a wave of dismissal, his voice vibrating with a deep baritone of command that sends an invisible shiver down your spine. “Give us a little breathing room, would ya?”

The two girls reply in unison, “Yes, boss!” before promptly showing themselves to the exit, happy to oblige, leaving you alone in the metaphorical lion’s den. 

The door shuts behind them like a death sentence, yours to be precise. You refuse to move, as if the slightest twitch would spurn backlash from the male before you (but you lived through it before, by a hand much closer and far crueler, and you could do it again.) Dampening down the memories of days gone past, you dare yourself to stare the man in the eyes if for nothing else but to expedite your execution as quickly and painlessly as possible. You would get to your desired result one way or another. 

Moments pass without incident and you unwittingly relieve the tightness in your throat with a hard gulp. You miss it, but the gang leader’s lips tilt just slightly before it disappears in his frown, as if it never existed in the first place.

The room is so quiet, so tense, it’s nearly suffocating. 

And all at once, it’s not. 

Your ears ring at the sudden volume of his voice, from the pressure he exerts from his presence alone. 

“The hated boss who beats you down, and beats you down, and never lets up,” and he stands from his throne in a show of aplomb, tattooed arms crossed over his puffed chest and a manic smile on his lips. “Big bad Guzma is here!”

As if he needed an actual introduction. You’re no fool; you’ve lived on Ula’ula all your life, and there’s nary a spot nor person in all of Alola that hasn’t had a run-in with the group of ne'er do wells donned in their signature skull-themed attire. From what you’ve heard, however, the boss hardly graced the public with an appearance, usually leaving the dirty work to the grunts and underlings that made up his team. Still, you never imagined him to be so… tall. Even with his slouch, he towers over you easily, much to your displeasure. 

“Let’s cut to the chase, girly.” Guzma enjoys the way a glare hardens your eyes at the unwarranted moniker, curious to see just how many buttons he’d get to press before you exploded. “My guys said ya washed up at our secret cove after that monster storm, y’know. Scared ‘em shitless to see a dead body out at the beach like that.” He hops off the platform and stalks up to you, circling your frozen form like a predator to its prey. “What in the world were ya doin’ out in a storm like that anyhow? Didja get swept out by the tide or somethin’? Or you some kinda idiot?”

You bid yourself to hold your tongue before answering, a practiced skill formed over a lifetime, and offer a numb shake of your head, refusing to make eye contact with him as he passed. 

Guzma crosses his arms, observing. Not much of a talker, huh?

“Well, that don’t matter to me anyway,” he says, stopping his loops directly in front of you, mere inches from your statue-like body. “As far as I’m concerned, you owe Team Skull a hefty favor for saving yer life, doll. And you bet yer ass that Team Skull will get its dues.”

His closeness is perturbing, practically invasive. You’re so close you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, dominance rolling off of him in waves- 

Wait.

_ You _ owe _ them _ a favor? Seriously? 

Your temper flares for a fraction of a second and you lose control of your tongue. “You didn’t do me any favors by pulling me out of the ocean.” Your voice comes out as hollow as the room itself. “Shouldn’t have bothered, it was just a waste of everyone’s time.”

Guzma cocks an eyebrow, mildly interested. “You got a death wish?”

“Yeah, something like that…” It sounded more pitiful than you intended, but there was no point in lying. Anyone with half a brain would know to take shelter with a storm like that on the horizon, living on an island especially, folks around here know not to mess around with Mother Nature. 

A strained silence follows your statement, not that you’re surprised. Honestly if some half-dead stranger that managed to survive getting pulled out of the unforgiving ocean came up to you spouting the same mantra, you wouldn’t know what to say either.

There’s something swirling in the depths of his eyes as he observes you, but you can’t pick it out quick enough before it’s gone, replaced by a demented light and matching smirk that has you suddenly second-guessing your bravado from mere moments ago. 

Guzma gives you an uncaring shrug and it absolutely lights your temper on fire. “Like I said, none of that matters to me, girly.” 

You sigh, having just about enough of the stupid nicknames. “My name isn’t _ girly,_ or _ doll,_ it’s…” Though you just barely manage to get your name out before Guzma is interrupting you again, not that you’re surprised. 

“From this day forward,” Guzma proclaims as he backs away, taking his place on his throne once more, “you’re under Team Skull’s watch.”

You can practically hear the haunting click of a key turning the lock on your life once again.

“And you ain’t going _ anywhere._”


	3. where feet may fail

three | **_wheels in motion_**

True to his word, Guzma has you on lock-down 24/7. 

How _ wonderful_. A hair’s breadth away from freedom, from escaping your ivory cage, only to find yourself trapped all over again.

For the most part, most of your day is spent sequestered in silence, banished to a mostly barren room (with a connected, private bathroom, thank the _ gods…_) in the back of the large estate known as the Shady House, the base of operations for the group of miscreants that plague Alola with their antics, pretty much on what you would call a poor-man’s “suicide watch.” Every few hours, one of the many members that comprise the group would check up on you, drop off food (if you could call a couple of Rage Candy Bars, a malasada and a Tapu Cocoa a _ meal_) and attempt to get you to listen to a rap ballad they were working on before leaving, only to repeat the cycle the next day. 

But a human being can only sit around doing absolutely _ nothing _ for so many hours of so many days (about a week to be exact) before going freaking insane, something you discover when you stand from the bed pushed to the corner of the room and amble your way to the door leading to the rest of the house, absolutely at your wit’s end. 

A solid set of knocks alerts a presence hanging outside of your door and it swings open as two members of Team Skull step inside with questioning looks in their eyes. 

The need for security detail arose after your first “breakout” attempt, when it was discovered that the lock on your door didn’t exactly work, failing to keep you trapped inside. And it wasn’t as if there were many other vacant rooms in the house to use, sooo… y’know. Glorified babysitters! The obvious answer. These two were the latest addition to your growing entourage.

“Let me out of here,” your command is heavy in your throat, tired, and somewhat unnerving to the two male Skull members ordered to stand guard beyond your room. 

The blue-haired male speaks up first, waving his arms around in exaggerated gestures that makes your head spin. “We’re under strict orders to keep watch of you, yo!”

Beside the first one, the brown haired grunt begins to copy the movements of his partner as he addresses you. “Yeah, we’re not letting Big G’s girl out of our sight.”

You nearly choke. “I’m not his-!…” You sigh, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Okay, listen. What are your names?”

“Makoa.”

“The name’s Kai!”

Brown, Makoa. Blue, Kai. Okay.

You sigh, making eye contact with them. “Kai, Makoa, I’m gonna level with you guys. I’m going stir-crazy in there, alright. Can you please take me to Guzma? I need to talk to him.”

The two guards exchange a nervous glance before turning back to you. Makoa pipes up, “Uh, I don’t know about that…”

“Yeah,” Kai croaks, scratching the back of his azure buzzcut, “Big boss isn’t in the best of moods right now…”

“I’ll take the risk,” you reply, steeling your nerves with an almost-glare of determination in your eyes. “Anything is better than staying holed up in here.”

The storm has since moved away from the island, leaving the usual bleak weather behind, much like your mood as you stalk through the halls of the Shady House, ignoring the lingering looks and whispers of the other members of Team Skull scattered about the premises. Hot on your heels, Kai and Makoa try to talk you out of your questionable decision the entire way, though to little avail, throwing every excuse in the metaphorical book at you to convince you to turn around. He’s in a meeting, he’s on the can, his favorite TV show is on and doesn’t want to be disturbed, the stars are just not in position for this right now. 

Their conjoined efforts fall on deaf ears as you approach the room at the farthest end of the hall, the one accessible from that oddly placed plank walkway beyond the balcony despite the perfectly usable staircase, like, _ right there_, if they just picked up the shattered remains of the fallen chandelier and move some cardboard boxes out of the way. But that was another issue for another day. 

Raising a fist, you muster all of the conviction circulating in your veins and knock on the door, immediately met with the sound of crashing objects from the other side that sets you and your chaperones on edge. The roar of a voice that follows has nervousness sitting like a rock in your stomach as the door is yanked open, and you _ swear _ you hear the sound of the hinges ripping from the frame as Guzma comes into view, hair slightly more disheveled than usual, donned in a pair of plain black sweatpants and a white tank top with a stain at the top that looks _ suspiciously _ like Tapu Cocoa. His expression is ablaze, obviously not pleased with the interruption. 

“I told you idiots to leave me the fuck-!” Guzma’s teeth immediately snap shut as your eyes meet, at a loss for words at your unexpected appearance. 

The tension gathering in the hall is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you beckon your knees to cease their knocking in the face of your captor who stares at you with storm clouds brewing in his gaze.

_ Should I say something? _

However before you can assemble a rational sentence, Guzma beats you to the punch. “Hurry up,” he commands roughly and even the grunts behind you flinch and take a step forward before Guzma’s voice stops them in their tracks. “_Just _ you.”

The door behind you slams closed so fast it makes your ears ring from the reverberation once you step inside. That was either a ghost or your escorts sealing you in the room to spare themselves the wrath of their leader. It was the latter, of course. They weren’t about to take the fall for this stupid stunt; this was _ your _ idea, after all. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you watch as Guzma stomps his way back to his throne, seating himself in it with an expectant look thrown your way. 

“**What.**”

Ignoring the edge in his voice you square your shoulders before speaking. “I’d like to leave.” There. Short, sweet and to the point. You’re sure he’ll appreciate that. 

A bark of laughter quickly throws that thought in the garbage can. “Hahh? Why? You’re just gonna try and off yourself again, right?” You don’t dignify the accusation with a response so Guzma continues. “S’ides, I told ya girly, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“What exactly are you getting out of keeping me here? There’s no benefit for you, right? That’s what Team Skull’s all about, isn’t it?”

Guzma shrugs. “I don’t give a fuck about the _ benefit_, doll. I’m Guzma, the big bad boss of Team Skull, and the only thing I care about is bringin’ chaos and fear anywhere and everywhere I go!” Guzma lets out a raucous laugh and pounds the arm of his throne with a balled fist, somehow finding a humor in his words that eludes you. 

Oh, wonderful, there’s no reasoning with this man. 

The room quiets after Guzma’s bout of laughter, awkwardly so. How were you supposed to respond to that? 

Luckily you don’t have to as a thought suddenly begins to spin in Guzma’s head, a smirk that said trouble forming on his lips. “Yer lookin’ a little more alive than last time, girly,” he says, and you don’t like the predatory look he gives you behind his hooded eyes. “So maybe you can convince me to let you leave.”

Oh no, here it comes. You can see it now; forced into servitude by a thuggish brute, just like those trashy romance novels and TV shows said would happen. Who knows exactly what he’ll ask of you, but you just _ know _ it’s going to be horrible, and you shudder to think what will become of you in your captive-

“That is, if you can beat me in a Pokemon battle.”

…

Oh.

That’s all? Well, you were worried for nothing! That’s certainly a reasonable req-

Gloom suddenly twists in your gut. It’s unpleasant and unwanted, but you do your best to extinguish it at yet another reminder that you-

“…don’t have… any Pokemon.”

Guzma gives you a look and leans forward in his chair, cupping a palm behind one of his ears. “Hahh? Speak up, girly, you’re mumblin’.”

“I don’t have any Pokemon.” Suddenly, you can’t look him in the eye.

Rather unexpected, but that was a possibility Guzma should have anticipated. The light of his confidence begins to waver from his lips. “Yer not a trainer?”

You shake your head. “No, I… I’m not.” Not anymore.

A pang of ache stabs you through the heart, as if admitting it solidified the reality that you were _ still _ here and yet your Pokemon were…

Guzma eyes you down during your inner struggle, pensive. He watches your emotions fight for dominance for a split second before he shrugs, the movement interrupting your moment which causes you to lock eyes once more.

“What a shame.” His nonchalance is replaced with a sick sense of delight at the sour face you give him in exchange. “I guess this conversation is over then!” And almost as if on cue, Kai and Makoa re-enter the room, grabbing your arms and hastily ushering you out despite your shouted protests.

“Let go of me!” You kick and scream as they walk you out of the boss’s domain, “I’m not done talking to-!”

“I like yer fire, girly!” Guzma’s voice carries as he slams the door behind him, having gotten up to watch you leave, effectively dashing any hope you had of escaping your newfound prison in the process.

Stumbling into your confinement room, you turn on your heels and give a hearty glare at the two grunts standing in the doorway. 

“Take me back!” You’re so fed up you don’t bother asking nicely. 

“Can’t.” Makoa replies simply, rolling his shoulders up. 

Kai averts his gaze, avoiding your fiery stare. “It’s better if you don’t make Big G mad. If he dismissed ya, he’s not in the mood to talk no more.”

But that’s not an excuse that jells with you and you suppress the desire to yell out in frustration, instead pacing your room like a cornered animal. “This is wrong. You guys can’t keep me locked up like this!”

Kai sighs and grips the door handle. “We all gotta play the hand that’s dealt to us.” He says, causing your movement to cease abruptly in the middle of the room. “We all have our cages, sis.”

You glare hard at the tattered floor beneath your feet, fists clenched so tight they’re shaking at your sides. Don’t you know it.

Makoa moves to exit the room with his partner, throwing you a look of what could be empathy at your back. “Sometimes sitting in it is easier than trying to bend open the bars.”

The door shuts behind them, shrouding the room in a cold darkness as a single frustrated tear stains your cheek.


	4. and there I find you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter but it sets up the next chapter which will be much longer, so get excited for that one cause it's one of my favorites! :)  
Also, thank you for all the comments, kudos and interest so far! I love you all!

four | **_a break in the storm_**

“Hey, hey, wake up! Wake up!” 

A familiar voice intrudes on your room and you sit upright, rubbing at tired eyes. A groggy stare is all you have to offer the swirling mix of blue and brown standing at the other end of the room, your head still a might bit dizzy from the sleep that eluded you all night long. 

The sentries ordered to guard your door come into focus steadily, and Makoa and Kai stand side-by-side in matching poses when they finally come into view. They’re surprisingly… chipper in the morning. 

You’re still out of sorts as the brown-haired male in the duo approaches your bedside. Makoa holds something in his hand and reaches out for you to grab it.

“Good morning,” he greets as he hands you your “breakfast” for the day; a malasada, of _ course_. 

Accepting the confection you answer, “Good morning,” jaded, staring endlessly at the fried pastry in your hands. Still warm.

Your sour mood doesn’t seem to discourage either of the boys’ as Kai swaggers further into the room, a complete turnaround from his more philosophical stance from the days before. 

“We got some excitin’ news for ya,” he announces, watching you silently fiddle with malasada wrapper in your hands. “We got stuck with patrol duty and we decided to bring ya along since we’re supposta be looking after ya!”

_ Really? _ When all you wanted was solitude, to be left alone in your prison cell and not be bothered for the rest of your days, you’re forced to actually go outside? Oh, the humanity! The indignity!- 

You’re suddenly more alert than you were before. 

“You don’t say?” you reply and place the foodstuff to the side, feigning disbelief in the back of your throat while swinging your legs over the edge of the bed to stand. “Well, if you insist. Who am I to say no?”

Much to your delight, your escorts don’t catch the subtle sarcasm hidden under the pretext of your words as they high-five, focused on the task at hand and getting it over with as quickly as possible so they could get back to… whatever it was that they did while standing outside your door. So naive, you almost felt bad for taking advantage.

You’re ready to go in no time, not wanting to delay any further. Standing in the foyer behind the two males, anticipation pulses through your veins. How long has it been since you’ve felt the breeze on your face? Or even the sun on your skin? To smell the rain-soaked earth after a storm and let the humidity sink into your bones? Your heart beats faster at the thought. 

Kai pushes through the door first, followed by Makoa. They’re chattering about something, but you’re too preoccupied with your first glance at the outside world to notice. The sky is as grey as it ever is here, drizzling as you expected. Pulling up the cover on your borrowed hoodie, you take that first apprehensive step through the threshold, expecting all of this to be some elaborate prank or a wistful daydream that you’re soon to wake from. But as your steps bring you further and further from the mansion, you suppress the urge to cry. 

It’s real, it’s all real. You never thought you could be so happy to be alive in this moment, as liberating as it is.

The joy is short lived, however; you recognize that you can’t let yourself get lost in it for too long before the opportunity slipped through your fingers. This was your chance, perhaps your _ only _ chance at true freedom, and you were not about to let it escape you. All you needed now was a distraction… 

Fortune seems to favor you today as Makoa and Kai’s voices grow in volume, pulling you away from your reverie. 

“Nah, man! Sweet Malasadas are _ way _ better than the Spicy ones!”

“What the hell are you even talking about, brah? Spicy Malasadas are the best!”

“Shut up!”

“_You _ shut up!”

Fighting. About the best malasada flavor. _ Really? _ They weren’t tired of them yet? 

Their bickering allows you the opening you needed as you fall further behind their pace, putting distance between you and your distracted escorts. Risking a glance at your surroundings, you note the lack of any other presence hanging around the dilapidated town; no other witnesses to hinder your master plan.

Just a few moments more… You hold your breath.

With their eyes trained fully ahead, Kai and Makoa don’t see you dart off into the thick bushes behind them, hiding between the foliage as they continue on without a clue. Holding your position, you silence any movement to prevent rousing suspicion until their voices finally fade from earshot. 

It worked.

You can’t believe it actually worked.

Part of you wants to scream, jump for joy, laugh until your cheeks hurt, just _ something _ to celebrate the pride that swells in your chest. You couldn’t recall the last time you _ ever _ felt so excited about something, the sensation painting a smile most triumphant on your lips.

Continuing on with your mission, you maneuver yourself through the bushes, pushing your way through the branches and leaves until you find yourself in the backyard of one of the many abandoned houses that make up Po Town. It’s just as run-down as the rest of the town, no surprise there, but the enclosed area allows you to finally stand out in the open, taking a moment to bask in the cleansing rain that truly felt like liberation now, a sense of reprieve… 

Which would have all been well and good if not for- 

“The hell are you doin’ out of the house?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp!* A cliffhanger?! Who could have seen that coming??? Who could the mystery presence be???? And wouldn't you like to know? ;) Tune in for the next chapter to find out!  
Also, Leonard’s Bakery has the best original and custard filled malasadas, I don’t make the rules.


	5. in the mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post this one a little early and announce that I'm gonna put this fic on a little break just so I can complete at least one more of the four chapters that have yet to be written for this story. I feel that once I'm at a more comfortable place for the chapter count I'll post up the next one so hopefully it won't be too long :)
> 
> Other than that, I'm super excited for this chapter in particular because it's one of the first interactions I thought of when I wanted to flesh out the story more, and I've always been a sucker for the "guy sees girl first" trope. Also, I apologize for the accidental POV switches in this one lol
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! I hope you continue to enjoy this fic and I hope to be back soon!

five | ** _risk it all, risk the fall_ **

A coldness not beget by the rain grips your spine and you freeze, hesitantly turning to the sudden intruding voice.

_ Please, please don’t let it be… _

The worst of your fears materialize as none other than Guzma who stands a few feet behind you, eyeing you down with a hearty glare and a Pokemon you could identify as a Golisopod at his side.

Well, shit. This isn’t exactly how you imagined this scenario going.

Guzma’s glare threatens to bore holes in your skin as he impatiently awaits an answer, evident by the scowl growing on his lips. No one is allowed to keep big bad Guzma waiting. 

Be cool, stay calm.

“Kai and Makoa are on patrol duty and dragged me along,” you try to keep your voice as even as possible, using past experience to remain as solid in your conviction and delivery as not to rouse suspicion to your inherent trepidation. “I just slipped away to get a better look around this place.”

Guzma stares you down with those stormy grey eyes for a moment longer before he exhales heavily, muttering out a disgruntled, “Those idiots…”

You realize you can’t give him the opportunity to order and/or drag you back to the house, sealing your fate with you inside of it until the end of your days or until they got tired of keeping you there. 

Okay then. Keep the conversation going. 

You motion with your head in his direction. “That your Golisopod?” Be careful, you almost stuttered.

Something akin to appeasement (and surprise) alights in Guzma’s body, you can see it in the way his posture shifts ever so slightly to stand more straight, confident. 

“You know it,” Guzma taps a palm against the hard, outer shell of Golisopod’s body, “My partner since day one. Trained ‘im up from a little Wimpod I caught all by myself.”

Wow, you didn’t actually think this would work. Don’t let up.

“He looks strong.” 

“Damn straight!” He sounds so proud, like a parent boasting about their child for an achievement and let’s just stop that thought there before it makes tracks. “There ain’t nobody on Team Skull that can beat me an’ Golisopod!”

Said Pokemon moves to stand between you and its trainer as if to prove Guzma’s point. A sentinel covered in plating as hard as diamond, Golisopod is a formidable partner and foe in battle. You’d done your research in what seemed like a lifetime ago and you’re glad to see it hasn’t gone to waste.

With heavy footfalls, Golisopod closes the small distance until it stands directly in front of you, leering down at you from its incredible height. It gives you a once-over, inspecting you before carefully nudging you with its larger claws. Familiar with intimidation tactics, you try not to react as it continues to prod at your arms and near your face.

When you remain unflinching, Golisopod pulls back and just… stares at you, as if thinking. You assume it’s waiting for a command from his trainer, but when none comes, the Pokemon slowly lowers its head, hanging silently in the space that separates you and waits. 

The closeness is a little unnerving, if you were speaking frankly; you never imagined being so close to one of these massive creatures to the point where you could hear the subtle _ clicking _ it makes, a not-so uncommon trait among Bug-type Pokemon. But you manage to push that aside, taking its intentions as an invitation. You rest a gentle palm against the purple mandible of its face, allowing the once-daunting Pokemon to get used to your presence at its own pace (as not to scare it off or invoke an unbidden injury as a result.)

All the while, off to the side, Guzma watches the interaction with mild interest. He hasn’t spoken a word since Golisopod decided to size you up, taking in the scene as it unfolds. 

In truth, he half-expected you to turn tail at the confrontation — he _ wanted _ to watch you run away in fear from his prized partner — but you stood your ground, much to his surprise. Those claws have cleaved oceans, intimidated men far bigger than you, yet you stand there, _ petting _it without batting an eyelash. 

Just _ who _ were you?

When he’s seen enough, Guzma speaks up. “I got a feelin’ you weren’t telling the whole truth earlier, doll.” 

You freeze. Oh no, did he finally figure you out? Did he see through your ruse? This is it. It’s curtains for you now. Goodbye, life. So long, freedom. It was certainly nice knowing-

“About being a trainer.”

You nearly sputter. Quick! Think of something to say!

“Does that bother you?”

Guzma crosses his arms, scoffing. “Psh, fuck no.” 

_ Phew. _

With the imminent crisis averted you refocus your attention back to the hulking Pokemon before you that remains content to nuzzle its carapace against your open palm. Maybe if you ignored Guzma at this point, he would just go away and leave you alone with his surprisingly cuddly Golisopod.

You’d find no such luck, of course.

“Tell me about ‘em.” Guzma watches the confusion light your features at his sudden <strike> demand</strike> request; he clears his throat. “Your Pokemon, I mean.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t peg you as the type to be concerned with a stranger.”

“Don’t get me wrong girly,” he says, seating himself on the concrete step under the tattered awning connected to the abandoned house. “I’m just tryin’ to see what I’m up against whenever we get to have that Pokemon battle, s’all.”

With a wave of Guzma’s hand, Golisopod pulls away from your touch, silently walking through the open sliding door of the abandoned house at its trainer’s command; privacy. Crap, you really liked having that buffer between you and the ticking time bomb currently staring holes in your forehead. He watches you expectedly, waiting for an answer that he _ knows _ he’s gonna get eventually, which infuriates you to a slight degree. 

A frown pulls at the corners of your lips, your original plan backfiring in the worst way possible. Yes, you wanted to keep Guzma distracted enough so he wouldn’t lock you up in the Shady House and throw away the key for escaping, but you weren’t aware that the stipulation involved suddenly being the center of attention. 

Was Guzma purposely looking for any and all chances to torment you?

Why was he so adamant to make you relive those memories? To make you take a trip down memory lane of the confused faces of your beloved Pokemon as you held them one last time, refusing to let any tears fall before sealing them away? To force you to face the cold truth that you would never get to see them again, even after your sister would undoubtedly find them cradled in their Pokeballs next to your final note on your pristine bedsheets? 

Can’t he see how painful this is?

Nevertheless, you brought this upon yourself. You chanced it, playing this dangerous game and fought so desperately to win, not knowing the price would be so high — to put yourself in a place of such vulnerability before this man you barely know, to let him hold all the cards and all the tricks up his sleeves. He called your bluff, unintentional or otherwise, and you lost.

You mimic Guzma, seating yourself a respectable distance away while under the protection of the awning, shielded from the rain. 

Wordlessly, he continues to watch you as you gather what little courage still runs through your veins, and before you know it the words begin to flow; thinking about your team, your wonderful, precious Pokemon, you get lost in the echoes of the past. 

As time ticks on, you find talking about them becomes easier and easier with each memory that surfaces. You manage to smile at every one. The battles that made you stronger as a team, the hardships you endured together, the adventures and sights you were able to see that opened your eyes to a world of possibilities — perhaps it was in those times that you were truly the happiest.

And then, you frown. 

“But in the end, I left them behind when I decided to…” You catch yourself hesitating. “Yeah.”

It feels so odd to talk about now. No, not your Pokemon, but the opportunity that slipped out of your palms, of the end you were supposed to meet before it was dashed by some unknown fate that seemed to have other plans for you. Plans that seemed to include a long-time run-in with Team Skull apparently.

Guzma's voice cuts through the pause in your stories. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you something.”

For a moment, you'd forgotten you were actually sitting next to the boss of the aforementioned group of petty criminals, and you realize he hasn't said a word or interrupted you once during your speech. It was a little… surprising, but not unappreciated as he warrants your full attention; the least you could do in return.

At the sudden connection of your eyes, the way you're staring straight at him, Guzma stammers for the right words. 

“So, uh, why’d you, y’know… decide to sleep with the Wishiwashi?”

Ah, _ that question_, delicate but inevitable. You probably should have seen this coming. 

A soft sigh escapes as the ground suddenly becomes _ so _ interesting, your hands finding each other, wringing together in a tight grip. 

“Too much pressure.” 

The pressure to succeed. 

To constantly perform to someone else’s standards. 

To be absolutely _ perfect._

The list goes on. 

“You know when you shake a soda can and then open it? All of the pressure built up inside the can just kind of explodes out from the force.” Not the most eloquent analogy, but the way Guzma nods in understanding means that it accomplished what you wanted it to. 

“At some point I just… exploded.” You dampen the sudden, unwelcome tightness of your throat, the weakness slowly creeping up on you like a spectre hanging just over your shoulder. “And I decided it wasn’t worth it. So I left home, went on one last solo “adventure” across Ula’ula and you know the rest, I guess.”

Guzma lets out a forced cough, contemplating a response. “Not the best choice to throw yourself into the ocean, doll. There’re… quicker ways…” Okay, maybe he should have thought for a _ little _ longer… 

But you don’t seem to pay his crass reply too much mind as you breathe out, “I didn’t want to leave a trace of me behind.”

_ Ooh. _ Heavy. _ Really _ heavy.

Really came out of left field with that one, huh?

Guzma’s gaze fixates on the worn-down fence wrapping around the backyard of the abandoned property. He’s been thinking about _ this _ question for a while. 

“Do you still want to…?” 

The query hangs in the air, unfinished, but you know what he’s trying to say. What you don’t know is how he managed to bring his voice an octave lower than you ever thought you would hear from someone so… unrestrained. 

Nope, don’t need to dwell on that.

Despite all of the oddities in your current circumstances, you had to admit that it was exponentially better than your previous ones (relatively speaking but you weren't ready to think about that). 

You weren’t quite sure if admitting it would stroke Guzma’s ego but you manage to crack a small smile, the slightest upturn of your lips. 

“You know,” you reply, turning your focus to your conversation partner, “I haven’t had much time or reason to think about it, being Team Skull’s captive and all. Gives me something else to focus on, I suppose.”

And it’s the first time you’ve ever seen Guzma taken aback. He’s so stunned when he looks at you, he doesn’t fully register his half-contorted sunglasses sliding down from the top of his head to balance on the tip of his nose, having succumbed to the weight of the rainwater pressing on its surface. 

The sudden sight is so comical it has you laughing, a _ real _ laugh, something haven’t done in ages. You forget you’re dealing with a hot-blooded, quick-tempered criminal for a moment and enjoy the dull ache in your cheeks from the humor you find in the well-timed spectacle.

Coming back from the outer reaches of his thought process, Guzma wordlessly slides his frames back into place and just watches. He never realized the apples of your cheeks could burn so rosy, so _ alive_. 

<strike> Guzma's chest tightens.</strike> Then, he smirks. 

“Then that’s a good reason as any to celebrate.”

_ Pssshhhhhh… _

The odd sound catches you off guard and you look for it, just in time for a dark-colored glass bottle to encapsulate your sight, hanging in the air between you and Guzma who holds it by the neck. 

You're more than stunned at the sudden gesture but manage to recover quickly, beginning to feel the unspoken tension that rolls off of him in waves, permeating the atmosphere.

Do you take it? Or do you deny the odd sense of newfound camaraderie that spans the space between your forms? 

You know he won't hold it forever.

Hesitant fingers accept the offering as Guzma digs through the cooler beside him (the existence of which you never noticed once, which is beyond you) and begins to open another one, throwing the bottle opener in a nondescript direction behind him as he takes a swig of the liquid captured inside. He howls in delight, loud and boisterous as you give it a curious sniff. 

Alcohol. Figures.

However, you choose not to look a gift horse in the mouth (knowing that this might be the only time you would be able to witness the leader of Team Skull being so open) and mutter a small ‘thank you’ as you take a sip. Guzma nearly topples over when you make a face at the taste, but you’re not ready to admit that this was the first time you’ve _ ever _ partaken in the drink.

Once you regain your bearings and apologize to your taste buds, you turn to the man sitting beside you, holding up your bottle. “Cheers.”

Guzma’s smirk is devilish, dancing along a line that betrays the excitement behind his stormy grey eyes as he brings his matching bottle to _ clink _ against yours. “Cheers, doll.”

He throws his head back to down the bottle before coming up for air, wiping the excess from his lips wildly. Succumbing to your competitive nature, you follow his lead and down the liquor in one sitting, not wanting to be shown up. It goes down a little easier this time, much to your delight. The burn in your stomach is new and somewhat exciting, and you can’t help but giggle at the warmth that spreads across your cheeks despite the cold rain. 

All the while, you’re a little too distracted to catch Guzma staring at you from the corners of his eyes the entire time.

And just like that, a spark is lit.


	6. in oceans deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm back! :D I'm happy to report that I've accomplished what I set out to with my mini-break and finished not one but TWO chapters, meaning there's only three chapters left for me to write before this story is complete ; 3 ; I'm so happy to see this one develop from where it was to where it is now~~ so I hope you all stick with me till the end!
> 
> Speaking of the end, I decided to re-write the final chapter into something that I felt was a little more satisfying, so I may have to take another break in the future to get that one done, so I apologize in advance for that!
> 
> So, anyway, this chapter features a bit of POV from everyone's fav boi, to get a bit of insight on his thoughts about our dear reader cause those are always fun :) Also, Plumeria finally makes an appearance! I hope you all enjoy and I just wanted to mention that I deeply appreciate all of the comments and kudos on this story! I never thought I would have anyone interested in this little project so thank you all so very much! <3

six | **_water under the bridge_**

The door to Guzma’s _ throne room _ slams shut behind him, the irritation on his face painting a picture of the day’s happenings before Plumeria even needs to ask. Instead, the admin wordlessly delivers a mug of Tapu Cocoa to the simmering male as he unceremoniously slumps into his throne, accepting the drink as he flicks through the confidential files on the busted-up laptop beside him.

“Any news?” Guzma grumbles, taking a sip from his mug with a glare so deep it would have started to burn holes into the computer screen. 

Plumeria shakes her head, her golden eyes poring over the parchment in hand, the latest status report from a group of grunts stationed on Melemele Island. “No incidents to report, but the status of the mission remains the same.”

Guzma growls in response. “Buncha good-for-nothin’...” 

He drums his fingers against the arm of the chair, the sound being the only thing that fills the dead space of silence that engulfs the room. Guzma’s thoughts run endlessly in a downward spiral, finding difficulty in focusing on one more than the other. 

Suddenly, his glare softens ever so slightly. 

“What about our… guest?”

Plumeria notices immediately. 

—

“Hey, sis, come join us.”

A sudden beckoning halts your steps on your daily trek along the tattered halls of the Shady House as your gaze lands on a few teens huddled around a small table near the staircase, all of whom hold playing cards in their hands and expectant looks in their unshielded eyes. 

The one who addressed you, a young man who you’ve come to know as Hector, waves you over with his non-occupied hand. “We need a fourth.”

The other two at the table, a girl named Hoku and a boy named Tripp nod in unison as they scooch over, making room for you to join their game of what appeared to be ‘Go Fish.’

You’d grown close to the trio rather quickly, considered some of the youngest in the group. With their funny dances and new-age lingo (_man _ , if that didn’t make you sound _ ancient_…), you enjoyed their company, agreeing to their request without hesitation as you often did nowadays.

Hoku, the rather lively, affectionate girl, immediately nestles up to your side as you take the spot next to her. “I’m so glad the boss let you outta that ol’ ratty room!” She giggles under her bandana. “Now you can hang out with us anytime!”

Tripp shakes his head from the opposite side of you with a sigh. “She’s still gotta stay in Po Town, Hoku,” he says, collecting the playing cards to shuffle and redistribute them amongst the newly-formed quartet. “And even if she _ can _ leave town, Big G said she can’t go on missions with us.”

You don’t say anything as Hoku pouts, mumbling something about Tripp being a spoilsport and a wet blanket, among some of the less mannerly names that come out of her mouth. They go back and forth for a while as Hector tries to rein them back in to play the game, but you don’t really hear the bickering in favor of falling into your own little world. 

It was fine, really. 

When Guzma suddenly announced that you were no longer under “house arrest,” you had to admit that you were surprised. When he said that you couldn’t leave Po Town under any circumstances without an escort (either a Grunt or himself; to make sure you couldn’t sneak away again, dumbass!), you weren’t. 

It may have seemed as though you were still getting the short end of the stick (and to a more insightful individual, you _ were_), but truth be told, the terms of your conditional release suited you just fine. After all, there were watchful, prying eyes all over the island and you weren’t trying to be seen by any of them, knowing where the information would end up and what would happen as a result. 

So you agreed to Guzma’s conditions, finally allowed the freedom to roam around the Shady House and the stormy streets of Po Town as you wished. Although, because of the weather, you chose to stay inside anyway.

Still! You appreciated the option and the fact that you were no longer in danger of a full-body atrophy from being locked away in a small room all day long, or becoming something akin to a hamster running on a wheel to nowhere. 

And getting to brush up on your Go Fish skills was just icing on the cake. 

—

Guzma stalks down the hall near his room, a glower on his lips. 

The lack of progress they’ve been making has him in a foul mood, more than usual. It’s stifling, not seeing his plans executed in a timely manner with the results he expected out of his people. Didn’t they know how important all of this work was? 

A lot of them are just kids, man, he has to remind himself occasionally, but that didn’t mean that they could just rest on their laurels. Team Skull has a reputation to keep and someone needs to be the one to keep it, damn it.

Guzma needed a drink. Or two. Or five.

A drinking partner wouldn’t hurt, either. 

… 

Where the hell did _ that _ come from?

Guzma is rather thankful there was no one around the hall at this time of day, considering the stupid expression that his face morphs into as he tries to shake the invasive thoughts from his head. 

Since _ when _ did he need something like that? He’s always been a lone drinker as opposed to a social one, so why would he even be thinking about youuuuu…- know what? He didn’t have time for this right now. There were more pressing matters to attend to, and maybe daytime drinking wasn't the best way to approach them. 

Guzma nears the bottom of the staircase, dark eyebrows raising in question as the growing sound of laughter echoes off the walls on the first floor. As he leaves the last step, he quirks an eyebrow at the scene before him. At the small table perched next to one of the rusted banisters of the staircase, you sit crouched beside three members of his squad… playing cards. 

Really? Playing cards? He gives you the freedom to roam about the house and _ this _ is what you choose to do with it? (Not that he was expecting you to go anywhere in particular, of course. <strike> Certainly not _ his _ </strike> <strike> room or anything, that would be absurd</strike>.) 

“Boss!” Tripp greets him excitedly and the others around the table begin to take notice, all turning to look at the person in question. 

Being suddenly thrust into the spotlight is nothing Guzma can’t handle, but when your eyes meet his, he can’t help but seize up. Team Skull’s boss’s mind immediately plays back a cinematic reel of the day you essentially snuck away from your security detail, and the moment you shared a drink with him replays a million times behind his eyelids before he has a chance to play off his unusual behavior. 

“My foulest, greatest brothers, what are y’all doin’ today?” Guzma addresses the group in his conventional manner, hands on his hips and presenting an assertive presence as was customary <strike> and ignoring the way you keep your eyes trained on him the entire time </strike>.

Hector holds up the playing cards to show to Guzma. “D’ya wanna join us, boss?”

“C’mon, Mr. Guzma! Play with us!” Hoku chimes in from her seat beside you, nearly toppling you over when her excitement causes her body to collide into yours. The action has his eyes locked onto your form as you laugh off the sort-of apology the younger girl gives as she throws an arm around your shoulder, bringing you two closer together. “New sis here is great at playing cards!”

You break into a half smile, shuffling your feet over to make room on the shrinking table space; an invitation. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Guzma hides the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat at your offer, a little speechless. Truth be told, he never expected you to be so _ open _ with him and about your situation as a whole. It threw him off his game, and taking notice of the expectant light in your gaze as you wait for an answer makes his heart damn near stop mid-beat.

“Nah.” A round of disappointed groans sounds off from the table, but you remain quiet as he waves off the pleading looks from his grunts. “I got shit to do.”

And so Guzma walks away, ignoring the pull in his chest that tells him to turn around and just fuckin’ sit next to you, play a few hands… But he can’t go back now. Appearances to keep and all that, and the thought _ burns _ his insides as the distance grows farther and farther.

The laughter resumes and echoes off the walls not long after he departs, and Guzma finds himself mildly vexed at the fact that he can pick apart your voice apart from the others. He doesn’t have time to think about the way it lilts when you acknowledge something one of the others says, or the victorious tone you take when you successfully manage to ‘go fish’ someone. 

Fuck this, man. He doesn’t _ need _ this, this is the last fucking thing he needs. Don’t you know? Guzma is a busy man! He doesn't have time to sit around playing kiddie games, <strike> wondering what you smelled like,</strike> or laughing like an idiot, <strike> wondering what your touch felt like,</strike> or any of that other shit you do with all of the hours in the day. 

<strike> But he’d like to. </strike>

His mind’s eye sees the look on your face as he left, and it sticks with him all the way to the farthest reaches of Po Town. Despite his tries, he just can’t stop thinking about it and the rain won’t wash it away, much to his displeasure.

You weren’t… disappointed in him, were you? 

More importantly, why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he was disappointed in _ himself? _


	7. my faith will stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, this chapter fought me _a lot_. There's a snippet in the middle that I deleted at first and then added it back in because I figured it wouldn't make sense without it but with it I thought it would be a little too much information... I think you know where I'm going with this.
> 
> I thought this whole chapter was a little _bleh_ so I hope you're able to make it through it before we start getting to the _really_ good stuff! We're half way through it now!

seven | **_half a step closer_**

Aimless was a good way to describe your day-to-day routine in the Shady House, walking endless circles around the manor halls before transitioning to a walk around Po Town, which lasts a good thirty minutes before you are left little choice but to return out of sheer boredom. 

There just isn’t much to do here. Tragic really, considering how much time you’ve got on your hands. 

A lot of the grunts are usually out doing Guzma’s bidding, whatever that usually entails for the day, not that you want to know. (You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to participate in any of their criminal-based activities and no one expects it out of you, thankfully.) So you end up spending a lot of the day puttering about, just observing the house in its quiet state, noticing little things left here and there by the inhabitants that call the place home. 

Speaking of, you’ve offered to clean up the disaster-struck halls on more than one occasion (that chandelier is beginning to drive you _ nuts_), only to discover that it’s arranged in a way that would deter any trespassers or anyone foolish enough to try to challenge Guzma for the Buginium Zs stashed away in his throne room. Fair enough.

So here you remain, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Regardless of the circumstances, the thought of living in these non-productive days vexes you, but you’ve since made the connection to the results of your prior “conditioning,” which is not an excuse but it still manages to burn the blood in your veins. 

Today, you find yourself following the same routine as per usual, however, you notice that there are quite a few more members of Team Skull still in the house, which is only slightly unusual for this time of day. After all, many of the squad don’t arrive until the late afternoon, making the noise a welcome change of pace for your loneliness. 

You eventually reach the top of the staircase for your final loop around the house, fingers dancing over the broken, chipped areas of the wooden handrails in some vain attempt to keep yourself entertained just as the sound of hushed tones reach your ears. 

Odd, no one in this house usually talks quietly and you say it’s cause for _ some _ alarm.

Glancing over to the opposite end of the second floor, you notice two grunts standing in front of Guzma’s room, whispering back and forth. They have yet to notice your presence, even as you make your way to the same hall and stand behind them, curious to their secrecy. 

“Miki, Kimo?” you call and watch as the duo freeze at the sound of your voice. “What’s going on?”

The two in question whip around, slightly alarmed until they realize who it is. Both of their faces give way to concern as they look at each other rather nervously. 

Kimo scratches the back of his head, disrupting the wild mop of hair beneath his bandana, voice almost despondent. “Wassup, new sis? We’re just having a lil’… trouble is all-”

“‘s not just a _lil’ _ trouble, Kimo!” Miki whacks the back of her twin’s head in mild irritation which earns her a bark of anger in return. She looks to you from behind your glasses with desperate eyes, “New sis, the boss hasn’t left his room in _ three days! _ We’re worried ‘bout him, but he won’t answer no one or nothin’!”

You gape. 

_ Three. Days?! _

That can’t be right, there’s just no way! You just saw him… 

Hold on. 

When _ was _the last time you saw Guzma? Mentally counting back on your fingers, the last time you saw the male in question was when you were playing cards in the hall… 

Three days ago…

Oh. Uh-oh.

“That’s worrisome,” you mutter, casting a glance at the door, “And no one knows why he’s been in there for so long?”

“No clue,” Kimo replies, shrugging his shoulders with upturned palms. “So, ya got any ideas on how to get ‘im out, sis? We thought of everything but he ain’t bitin’ at our bait.”

You hadn’t the slightest. Honestly, you’re dealing with an enigma here — a man with a penchant for confusing the hell out of you on more than one occasion, so how were you supposed to help in this situation? Then again, if he wouldn’t respond to the squad that he’s known exponentially longer than you, what makes you think you could make a difference? But the defeated, tired looks in the twins’ eyes resonate with you, and before you have a chance to rethink your decision you speak.

“I’ll take it from here, guys,” you reassure them and you swear their auras emanate with stars. “Go get some rest, I’ll see what I can do.”

—

Food. Food is what you can do.

A good meal has a powerful enough potential to coax anyone out of hiding, especially someone who the entire house hadn’t seen hide nor hair of in literal days.

What a great idea, you commend yourself with a mental pat on the back, this will definitely work!

At least, that’s what you think _ before _ arriving at the kitchen on the first floor, it's barrenness quite shocking at first sight.

Empty metal shelves devoid of anything other than dust and cobwebs contrast the unlabeled boxes that litter the floor and counter tops which instills fear in you at what they contain; after all, there was no telling how long they had been sitting out like this. There’s a refrigerator along the opposite wall with a broken freezer door that’s not even plugged in and even a gas burning stove that looks like it hasn’t been used in ages. It was no wonder everyone in the household was forced to sustain themselves on junk food, this place was a wreck!

But you couldn’t let that discourage you. There had to be something here, you just needed to find it!

You started off with the unlabeled boxes that were strewn about the kitchen, hoping for the best. Scrounging up your courage, you wrench open a box and shut your eyes, rifling around inside and only pulling out once you’ve got your hands around what feels like a cold metal canister. Relief passes over your lips once you open your eyes and are greeted by an unopened can of Spam, what luck! 

With a bit more searching you even manage to find a handful of unopened packets of dried seaweed sheets in the pantry next to a bottle of soy sauce, along with a bag of sugar sitting randomly on the floor. Score!

You’re over the moon at how fortuitous you’ve been, but there’s still one crucial ingredient that you would need in order to execute your plans… and like a godsend, the bags of rice hidden in the corner glimmers like treasure to your eyes.

With the ingredients secured, the next problem was just as pressing: how exactly were you going to cook this?

You turn your wary attention to the stove; was it worth the risk? Turning it on might set the whole on fire but if it worked… 

All you could do was hope for the best as you turn the knob to light the range… 

_ Click. Click. Click- _

And like a miracle, the flames ignite on the stove and illuminate the room, bright and blue.

“Yes!” you exclaim, and waste no time in preparing the ingredients needed to create a meal that Guzma, in all of his stubborn glory, would hopefully accept.

—

Arranging a plate with three carefully crafted spam musubis* you make the trek upstairs, very thankful that the tray came with a matching lid to protect its contents from the rain (you’d really have to talk to Guzma about that broken chandelier soon…). Like you've done a handful of times before, you approach Guzma’s door but with considerably less trepidation than days past, giving the frame three knocks to announce your arrival.

“Hey, it’s me,” you call, “the others told me that you’ve holed yourself in there for a while now… Maybe you should come out?”

No answer, big surprise. But after a few moments, you swear you can hear some faint shuffling from beyond the barrier before it stops completely.

You try again, knocking softer. “Are you alive in there? Can you let me in?”

No response again. 

A twinge in your chest says that this was a bad idea. It wouldn’t be the first time that your hubris has deceived you. 

Of course he wouldn’t answer you. He doesn’t have any obligation to do so, even if you _ were _ genuinely concerned for his well being. It would be best if you got someone else to-

The door suddenly creaks open, deathly slow, and for a brief moment, you swear the _ entire _ house goes quiet at the sound. It’s a little unnerving, staring into the darkness as the door swings open all the way with no one to greet you, not that you expected any different. 

Wait, where did this sense of deja vu come from?

You enter without coaxing and the dimly-lit room seems to gain a voice as you step over the threshold.

“…shut it…” the voice demands, nay, croaks. It’s low, hard to hear and… tired? Can a disembodied voice be tired?

You heed the direction without question, carefully maneuvering yourself despite the tray balanced delicately in your hands and finally get a look around the room.

It’s messier than you remember it last; Guzma’s mangled glasses sit on top of a pile of discarded clothes, and his shoes have been kicked off in different corners of the room. There’s papers scattered all over, the bathroom door looks like it’s about to detach from its hinges, and the man of the hour sits on his askew bed, the sheets pulled off the corners and left in a tangled mess along with a single pillow and a blanket that half-drapes on the floor. 

Guzma doesn’t acknowledge your presence as you approach his bedside. His legs are fully splayed across the mattress, leaning back against the metal headboard with a scowl on his lips. He seems to find more interest in anything _ but _ you, especially the large crack that lines the wall closest to him. You don’t remember that one from the last time you were here.

You hate how difficult it is to find the words to say to this man, amplified by the caustic air that swirls about the room that makes any semblance of conversation stick to the inside of your throat. It had less to do with how terrifying Guzma could be and more of how… delicate this kind of thing was. You’re no stranger to self-inflicted isolation, and though your circumstances differed, you know there was little that could be done to get you out of your room for that week… 

Well, anyway. No use dwelling on the past.

It was now or never.

“It’s been a… couple of days since you, uh,” you cough at the rough attempt to break the ice, “came out.” 

“_Really _ appreciate ya comin’ all the way to tell me that, walking calendar,” is his snarky reply, which immediately clears your apprehension. It clears so fast that you have to force yourself not to jump at it since it easily riles you up in all the worst ways.

You take a deep breath and grit your teeth. “No _ problem_…”

Guzma continues to glower at the decrepit walls of his room, stubborn as a Tauros. If he was going to act like a petulant child, why did he even let you in in the first place? 

Nevermind. Don’t question it; just do what you came here to do and leave, there was no sense in getting lost in things you couldn’t understand, right?

“I brought you food,” you find your voice and present the tray by lifting the metal dome lid, the encased aroma gently swelling into the room. Gingerly picking up the plate you hold it before him, noticing the glance he gives from the corner of his eye before it’s glued back to the wall once again.

“I don’t need _ nothin’ _from you-”

As if to counter his point, Guzma’s stomach lets out a ferocious growl that reverberates against the walls and you have to force yourself not to react despite the pride that spreads in your chest. With mild amusement, you watch as he winds his arms around his middle as if to silence the rumbling, grumbling under his breath about timing and how stupid bodies are and whatnot. 

“You should try it, you know,” you offer once again, bringing the plate a little closer to the male, “It’ll make you feel better.”

And true to his nature, Guzma growls low in return, “_Tch. _ You can’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.”

“That I can’t, but I’m not leaving until you eat.”

The glare he has for you is something fierce, but there’s no fire behind it; it must be from the lack of sleep. And food. And water. And peace of mind. 

You present the plate, tempting him much like a trainer would to condition an animal into performing a trick, not that you thought he was one but his attitude at the moment spoke to you like a jaded cat that couldn’t be bothered to fulfill its task for a treat. 

There’s a tense standoff between you as you eye each other down, neither party willing to concede and admit defeat. But another rolling growl of Guzma’s stomach spells victory in your favor as said male can’t seem to quiet his protesting body for any longer. It’s easy not to think about food when there’s none in the room but when it’s staring you in the face? That’s a different story.

“Fine,” Guzma nearly spits, practically snatching the plate out of your hands, “if it’ll get ya to leave me the hell alone…” 

You can’t help the smile that curves your lips as he takes a bite out of the musubi, said smile turning a might-bit triumphant when he moves to take a second, more voracious chomp after swallowing the first. You’re glad to have the foresight to make him three as the plate is empty in the blink of an eye, not that you’re surprised. Three days without food can do that to a person. 

You give him a moment to let the food settle in his stomach before you pluck the last item off of the tray, presenting it within reach. “Something to wash it down?”

Guzma eyes the steaming cup in your hand and the familiar scent of chocolate tantalizes his nose. He receives the cup hesitantly <strike>almost dumbfounded</strike> as the warmth seeps into his calloused palms. 

“A few of the others mentioned that this might be your favorite,” you begin to explain, “It would probably be best for you to drink water right now, but I figured this would offer a more likely chance for you to actually drink.”

—

Staring pensively at the surface of the Tapu Cocoa, the reflection gives Guzma a glimpse of his current state and he nearly flinches at the face that stares back. His eyes are practically bloodshot and the bags under them aren’t too pretty, either. His hair is in a state of disarray, more so than usual, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he turned into a vampire from how pallid his skin was.

In the back of Guzma’s mind, he vaguely understands why everyone knocking on his door has been so… insistent as of late. Probably not the wisest idea to disappear so suddenly without any warning or explanation behind this sudden hermit behavior. 

Hidden behind his disheveled hair, Guzma sneaks a discreet glance to you as you ramble. He didn’t want to admit that part of the reason was standing in his room at this very moment. 

—

You find it difficult to be supportive to a person so closely guarded, this walking mystery in baggy pants. Seriously, how were you supposed to cheer up this suddenly grouchy gang leader? Perhaps a better question would have been _ why _ were you putting so much effort to do so?

Keeping your voice soft, you ask, “You wanna talk about it?” but when he doesn’t reply, you try not to shift the blame on him. From what you’ve come to learn in your time here, Guzma isn’t the most _ open _ person. Hell, you’re still surprised from that day he offered you a drink <strike> when you basically spilled your guts about your Pokemon even if you didn’t want to but that’s not on the chopping block today.</strike>

Maybe all he really needed was space. Everyone gets into a funk every now and then, and maybe this is just how he deals with it, despite how odd Kimo and Miki made it out to be. But you figure he needs to at least _ hear _ something before you depart, even if he doesn’t acknowledge you.

“Look, I don’t want to know about or get involved in… whatever business you guys have going on here,” you gesture widely to the room, “but your squad is really worried about you. You’re their leader, right? How are they supposed to… succeed if they don’t have someone to show them how?”

Your palms clench unwittingly around the metal tray as you press it to your chest. “You should have a little more faith in your team,” you say before your voice weakens just as many of their faces, so eager and loyal to Guzma, come to mind. “They have a lot of it for you.”

You can practically hear the crickets chirping in the silence that follows your impassioned speech as a recording of everything you just said rewinds and replays an infinite number of times in your head. A hot, embarrassed blush stains your cheeks at the realization of how preachy you must have come off as, and how… awkward this was starting to get. Quickly. _ Very _ quickly.

You cough to dispel the rock that seems to magically form in your throat. If only it could stop you from talking, like, forever.

“Well, as promised, I’ll leave you be. Try to, uh,” you stammer, “get some sleep, alright?”

You certainly weren’t trying to overstay your welcome; things had been going so well lately, you didn’t want to sour it with this… encounter. So you move to leave, casting one final glance in Guzma’s direction before taking a step away, solidifying the gnawing sting in your heart that said you messed up.

You messed up.

You messed up.

You messed up, just as you were starting to-

A hand clamps around your wrist so suddenly that you nearly jump at the contact. 

You turn, and unsurprisingly the hand’s owner remains sat on his bed, still refusing to make eye-contact with you, all the while you remain stupefied where you stand. 

“_Stay. _”

It’s so soft you have to strain to hear it, knowing Guzma won’t repeat himself twice. How many beats per minute can a human heart withstand before exploding?

Realizing he’s still got his hand clamped over your arm Guzma releases you after a moment, retreating his limb back into his orbit.

Your eyes trail from where the lingering effects of his touch remain until your gazes meet, but you chicken out and look elsewhere before it could be considered meaningful. 

Swallowing your nervousness, you nod. “Um, sure.”

Wasn’t he trying to get rid of you less than five minutes ago? _You see? _ A _ penchant _ for confusing the hell out of you on the daily. But you notice any ire for his actions surprisingly absent as you look around the room for an instrument to assist you in his request. There aren’t many options for sitting around here other than Guzma’s throne, which you dare not touch. 

Pointing to the floor, you ask, “Should I…?” just as Guzma pulls his long legs closer to his body, allowing some space at the edge of the bed, saying nothing. 

You stare at the spot for a moment before you settle somewhat stiffly on the mattress, placing the tray on your lap so you could grip your kneecaps, keeping your body as close to yourself as possible. 

Well, this is… different. Certainly not what you expected, to say the least.

Silence fills your ears as, thankfully, neither of you seem to know what to say. You wonder for a moment if he thought this through because you sure as hell didn’t. It’s like there was only one brain cell between the two of you at the moment, but neither of you knew who was currently using it. 

“So how’d you make those anyway?” Guzma’s voice cuts through the quiet, thankfully shifting the atmosphere into a more distracted direction, one that you could go along with. 

“Let me tell you,” you sigh and relax ever so slightly, a tired smirk on the corner of your lips, “it wasn’t easy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - _spam musubi_ is a simple, staple snack in Hawai’i, made with cooked spam, rice and nori (roasted seaweed sheets) but can be made with other items like eggs, hot dogs and even different types of katsu pressed into a mold. Sugar-shoyu spam musubis are my favorite P:


	8. and I will call

eight | **_skeletons in the closet_**

Mornings are a lot easier to wake up to when you’ve got something to look forward to, and this morning just so happened to sing promises of a simmering pot filled high with various vegetables, noodles and broth that steadily wafts through the house with a delectable aroma, beckoning all those who walked past to peek in on the menu for the day. 

After demonstrating your resourcefulness last week, you saw fit to put use to the worn-out kitchen from time to time, cooking meals for the entirety of the house when the ingredients could be scrounged up; something a little different (and healthier) from the usual malasada, candy and soda that typically made up a meal in this place. 

Admittedly, it was nice to keep yourself occupied, to keep your otherwise “open” schedule busy. It kept you engaged in something other than overthinking or being haunted by thoughts of the past, the present or even your uncertain future. No, you would rather focus on the soup your stomach so desperately craved. 

The kitchen door swings open in that moment and suddenly you’re not alone anymore, alerted to the new presences flanking your sides for a peek at what’s bubbling inside the stainless steel vessel. 

Hoku nuzzles close to your side. “New sis!” She greets excitedly, as she did every time your paths crossed. “What are ya cookin’ today? It smells _‘ono _*!”

You fish out some of the simmering soup with a ladle, letting her take a peek. “_Saimin _*,” you say and dunk the utensil back into the pot to give it a stir, “Something warm for this rainy weather.”

“Yer a real wiz in the kitchen, sis,” Makoa nods from his spot leaning against the stainless steel counter, appraising the food that would soon fill his stomach. “You should cook all the time.”

“When we have the ingredients for it, I’ll certainly try,” you respond, turning the burner on low to let it finish cooking. “It’s hard to make anything out of the… usual stuff that’s lying around. Malasadas and candy don’t make for soups and stews.”

“You could always ask the boss to hit some nearby stores for stuff. I’m sure Big G wouldn’t mind.”

You chuckle nervously and shake your head, leaning your hip against the counter beside the male. “N-no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

After all, you didn’t really feel like advocating for even more crime to run rampant across Alola just for the sake of food. Though it was important, yes, you felt there were better ways to go about procuring sustenance that didn’t involve shoplifting, despite such a tactic being Team Skull’s modus operandi. 

_ If only I still had my Pokemon, I could at least battle to earn some… _

Bad thought, bad thought, bad thought. 

Coming back from your inner struggle while turning off the burner, you mumble, “Besides, food always tastes better when you work hard to make it.”

Hoku sticks her tongue out at this notion of “hard work” that you speak of but delights as a bowl of soup slides in front of her, steaming hot and fresh. Makoa thanks you quietly as you serve him a bowl and the kitchen is suddenly hushed, save for the sounds of noodle slurping coming from the two in front of you. 

“Oh, that reminds me!” Hoku grabs your attention, mischief shining in her bubblegum eyes as she sets down her empty bowl. “So, new sis, I’ve been meanin’ to ask ya, but, what do ya think of our boss?”

You quirk your eyebrows at her in confusion. “What I think about him?” 

“Yeah, come on!” The girl leans toward you, waggling her eyebrows. “By now, I’m sure you got some… _ opinions _‘bout him! Care to share…?”

Even Makoa leans a little closer, awaiting your response. 

You never gave yourself a chance to debate such a thing at length now that you thought about it, so it takes you a moment to get your views organized. 

“He’s volatile, a little moody to be sure, but he’s…” your voice trails off as the day you spent talking with Guzma in the rain comes to mind. 

That wasn’t so bad. 

Neither was the day you got Guzma to eat something after his involuntary fast.

And sometimes, when you’d pass him in the halls, and he would greet you with a slight wave and the _ faintest _ hint of a smile on his lips… 

Thinking about all of those extremely brief but strangely meaningful interactions has a pleasant warmth spreading from the top of your head all the way to the tips of your toes.

“Isn’t Big G the coolest!” Hoku's bubbly voice snaps you out of your reverie, crashing back into reality with a light dusting of pink on your cheeks. 

What’s with the sudden questioning anyway? 

Before you have the chance to voice your own curiosity, a third voice cuts you off, echoing throughout the room. 

“Hey, you numskulls!” 

All attention suddenly moves to the newest addition in the room, and the duo nearly jumps out of their skins as none other than Plumeria, the group’s second-in-command saunters up, tossing one of her four twintails over her shoulder. Her expression is intimidating, her short brows furrowed at the two in question. “That doesn’t look like berry gathering to me. Get back to work!”

And that’s all she has to say before the grunts scramble in a flurry of movement, leaving their empty bowls behind lest they incur the wrath of their “big sis.”

With two less people in the room, the kitchen is so quiet you could hear a pin dropping in it. (_Totally _ not unsettling or anything, of course.) 

Plumeria glances in your direction, inclining her head to you. “How’re you holding up?” she asks, one hand resting on her hip.

You offer her a light smile. “I’m good, thank you,” you tell her, “I hope the same can be said about yourself.”

Plumeria pulls out one of the stools beneath the kitchen island (a lucky find from the garbage dump) and seats herself, a hand coming up to cradle her resting head. 

“Everything’s been… stable as of late.” Plumeria’s attention remains glued to your form as you flit around the kitchen, making your way back to the stove top to attend to the meal you made. “It’s… nice. I suppose we have you to thank for that.”

Of course, word of Guzma’s most recent self destructive streak quickly made it to Plumeria’s ears once she got back from her assignment on Akala Island, and suffice to say, she wasn’t pleased. However, her dismay immediately morphed into surprise when her “little brothers and sisters” explained how you were able to coax the boss out of his room after three days. It isn’t an easy task to impress Team Skull’s second-in-command.

“I don’t know about all that,” you chuckle softly, only slightly sheepish, “I took a risk and it paid off. It could have just as easily turned out for the worst.”

You give the pot a stir before ladling some of the soup into a bowl, placing it in front of Plumeria which she thanks you for. 

And in a truly strange show of emotion you never expected out of her, Plumeria offers you a lopsided smile, picking up some of the noodles with the wooden chopsticks you place in front of her. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t.”

The conversation soon lapses comfortably as you allow Plumeria to eat in peace. You begin cleaning up the mess you left behind in your escapades, the clinking and clanking of pots, pans and utensils filling the airspace with an amiable atmosphere. 

“There’s something that’s been bothering me,” your voice carries above the sound of running water in the sink where your hands currently busy themselves with the dirty dishes left behind. “I’ve asked just about _ everyone _ about the day of my… accident, and no one can tell me who it was that saved me. I mean, I know Team Skull doesn’t really have an agenda for rescuing random strangers, but I’d really like to thank them. You wouldn’t happen to know who found me at the cove, would you?”

Plumeria gives you an incredulous tilt of the head mid-bite. “Cove? You mean the secret cove?” The hum of your affirmation has Plumeria setting down her chopsticks, staring at your back. “That’s G’s spot. He doesn’t let anyone go there, least of all any of those numskulls. Even I don’t risk showing up there.”

Your movement halts, frozen, and the constant flow of water streaming from the faucet is almost like a rushing waterfall to your ears. 

_ “My guys said ya washed up at our secret cove after that monster storm, y’know.” _

You’re thankful for the fact that the sink is aimed away from Plumeria’s piercing stare, and the fact that she can’t see the expression you wear, caused by the strange sensation that blooms in your chest at the implication you can’t quite explain. 

“Oh,” you attempt to diffuse the oddness in the back of your throat with laughter, “must’ve misheard then.”

You know for a fact that you didn’t.

—

It all sort of solidifies for her, this nagging thought in the back of her head she’s had ever since she first caught word of the “girl who just mysteriously showed up” at the house after that huge storm and no one had anything to say about how she got there. It’s no wonder G would act so cagey whenever she brought it up in conversation, how he would dodge her questions and change the subject in a fit of apprehension she _ never _ saw from the boss, _ ever_.

But she can see it. 

And it’s so blatantly obvious now, Plumeria berates herself for not noticing sooner. 

Kindred spirits. 

“He’s is a pretty interesting guy, isn't he?" you wonder aloud, breaking her from her thoughts. 

Plumeria’s sharp, short brows regard you as you shut off the water and turn your attention back to her. And ever observant, she takes note of the conflicted light that touches your countenance and the way your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, as if wrestling with yourself to come out and say-

“Can you… tell me more about him?”

She should put a stop to this now. As fresh as it’s been for the house since your arrival, you don’t _ belong _ here; this isn’t a life you chose like the rest of them.

You didn’t want anything to do with their plans, a decision she respected to a degree, but you would never understand what they were all about; what they were fighting for. What _ Guzma _ was fighting for.

It would be better for both of you - you _ and _ Guzma - to nip this thing in the bud and get on with your lives. Guzma can go back to focusing on Team Skull’s objectives and you can return to… whatever it was you were doing before you got mixed up in all of this, and with time, the both of you would forget about this whole thing, this _ infatuation _ like a bad dream.

Right?

… 

Plumeria bites at her cheek. Of _ course _ she’s right. She wouldn’t be Team Skull’s second-in-command if she wasn’t.

Her long pause ends with a sigh, eyes sharpened like the edge of a knife. 

“Not really my place,” she says, leaning back and giving a hard stare to the metal counter top, her food going forgotten, “but, I _ do _ think there are a few things you and I need to discuss…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, seriously you guys, the next chapter is literally my favorite one like, I’m so excited for it you don’t even know q(≧▽≦q) So fasten your seatbelts!
> 
> * - _ono_ means _delicious_ in Hawaiian, pronounced ‘_ohno_’  
* - _saimin_ is a noodle soup dish very similar to ramen and is only really found here in Hawai’i. The most notable difference between saimin and ramen is the noodles used (╹ڡ╹ )


	9. upon your name

nine | **_lay down your heart_**

Sand crunches underfoot as you make your steady approach to the shoreline of Team Skull’s secret cove, a spot that is miraculously free of the perpetual rain that falls over Po Town and Route 17. It’s a nice change of pace, seeing the sky beyond the clouds that never moved away from this part of the island, casting it in such a dreary glow (something you admit you’ve grown accustomed to). 

Your journey down the path affords you many wonderful sights, admiring the natural beauty of a place untouched by modern influences. And bad weather, of course. The water — as clear as crystal — reflects the setting sun, bathing the cove in a warm, mesmerizing shade of gold that glittered like precious riches pulled from the deep. The tide itself is calm, gently rolling foam onto the shore before pulling back into its greater whole and the colorful flowers that line the path sway in the delicate breeze, wafting their pleasant perfume on the air to soothe all those who would come across it. The beaches you’re used to are beautiful, yes, but they were always so loud, hectic. Filled with vendors, concrete walkways and _ so many people_, it was difficult to appreciate the quiet splendor of a place unsullied by man.

No wonder this place was such a well-kept secret; to be surrounded by such magic was special, humbling. And to think, you would never seen such a breathtaking sight without… 

Guzma sits close to the water, staring out at the open sea. With his back to you, you can’t tell what type of expression rests on his face, but you wonder briefly if it’s the same one you wear — one of apprehension, uncertainty, a touch of worry that this would all go awry. Not that you could blame yourself, Guzma was a bit of a loose cannon, a wild card; who knows how he would react to your presence in this place he shared with _ no one_. 

As the distance between you gets smaller, you wonder if this whole thing was actually a good idea. Your stomach does backflips at the thought of the confrontation, at how downhill this whole thing could go and how fast you were going to have to roll to keep up with it. 

Less than five feet away, it was now or never. 

Gingerly, you lower yourself to sit upon the sand beside him, close enough that if you shifted ever so slightly, you’d bump into his crossed legs at the knee. As you watch for any reaction, you take note of his mangled glasses abandoned beside his Team Skull paraphernalia further from the water, to keep them away from being swept away by any rogue waves to be sure.

It’s quiet here, save for the soothing sounds of the waves lapping at the sand. Out of courtesy, you leave the silence as it is, just in case Guzma decided he wasn’t in the mood for visitors. But when the dismissal doesn’t come, you settle a little further into your seat and emulate his movements, staring out into the vast sea that went on for ages.

It was peaceful like this, you had to admit, more so than you thought it would be at first. The breeze tickles your cheeks and tousles your hair, prompting you to push a few wayward strands behind your ear as you dare yourself to cast a small glance in Guzma’s direction. And despite the tranquilness of the beach, your sitting partner wears a troubled look that darkens his features and brings a frown upon your own. 

Doubt begins to creep upon your quickening heart, amplified by the anxious tension building in your shoulders. Suddenly, you don’t think it wise to begin such a delicate conversation. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea (one of many as of late) and you should just get up and go back to the Shady House and pretend you never came here (despite receiving some pretty detailed directions from Plumeria).

Yeah, that seems like a good idea.

“Can I ask you something?”

Well. So much for _ that _ plan. You mentally facepalm yourself for your defective oral filter. 

Any further berating on your part is interrupted by a quiet grunt of acknowledgement from the statue-like body beside you, and the surprise that ambushes you is written all over your face. And of course, it quickly turns to panic as you fumble with your overlapping thoughts. 

_ Oh, God, do I just come out with it? What if I’m wrong? _ Your frown deepens. Why didn’t you _ want _ to be wrong? 

All of the questions you could possibly ask, which one are you supposed to settle on? Then again, who needs to look before they leap?

“You rescued me the night of the storm, didn’t you?” It wasn’t even really a question, to be fair. Though, it wasn’t quite stated as fact either.

Guzma grumbles and breaks his stiff pose, a sudden defensive air wafting about his posture. “Don’t know what yer talking about, girly. I’m the big, bad boss of Team Skull. I ain’t got time to be pullin’ drowning chicks out of the water.”

Denial, you shouldn’t have expected anything different from him. But your voice gets stronger, insisting. “Plumeria said that this is your secret cove and that no one else is allowed to come here.”

Guzma visibly bristles at the mention. Oh, no. Here it comes, the question he’s <strike> feared</strike> dreaded. 

“So, why lie about it?”

Guzma’s attention is yours as he stares you down with a fierce glare (one you note hides no real anger behind it) before he relents with a groan, hands pressing against his hair, “Why’d she have to go and open her mouth…”

You were right! Yes, oh sweet vindication! There is a delightful satisfaction that courses through your veins that is suddenly overshadowed by an unexpected, unbidden ache that races through your chest. 

Wait, hang on.

Did he… regret it?

Any semblance of elation you previously felt leaves you so quickly your body runs cold despite the balmy air as your voice drops, barely above a whisper. “Is it so bad?” You dare yourself to look at him, unable to hide the hopeful gleam in your eyes. “To save someone?”

“You just don’t get it, okay?” Guzma releases a frustrated growl before a defeated sigh, running a hand through his unkempt white locks and all the way down to his dark undercut as the atmosphere suddenly turns somber. “I ain’t no hero.”

And despite everything you’ve come to know — about Team Skull, about Guzma — you agreed with him, you really did. After all, you’ve heard the stories, the rumors. Ula’ula is a big island but word travels like wildfire all the same. 

_ Team Skull vandalizes local shops. Team Skull shakes down locals for money and valuables. Team Skull steals innocent people’s Pokemon. Team Skull takes over entire town and drives away its residents… _

Guzma has done a lot of bad things as Team Skull’s leader, that you have no doubt. But that didn’t change the fact that he went “out of his way” to pull you out of the water and save your life when you were the one to throw it away in the first place. Or the fact that he chooses to harbor, feed and look after these misguided kids that are so directionless they don’t know up from down. As someone claiming to be the harbinger of destruction and chaos, Guzma has done a fair share to contradict himself otherwise. Of course, that didn’t excuse his less than ethical actions, but there was something to be said about the type of person he was behind closed doors, to those he trusted. To people like… 

So a hero? Maybe not. But a villain? No, he wasn’t completely that either. 

You look him directly in the eye, unwavering. “You don’t have to be a hero to be a good person.”

There’s so much sincerity in your tone, Guzma can’t even look at you, choosing to break eye contact. 

Worry finds you as he appears to clam up, but he manages to croak out an uncharacteristically weak, “I’m… I’m no good…” 

And there’s a feeling you can’t shake when he says it; a sudden though familiar weight presses upon your shoulders as your last conversation with Plumeria echoes in your mind. It didn’t bid repeating, but the horrific things the man beside you was forced to go through — the mental, verbal and physical abuse, was something you wouldn’t wish upon _ anyone. _

Perhaps it was foolish, downright insane to even _ think _ about aligning yourself with someone over something as reckless as a shared trauma. But there’s this undeniable tug you you feel when you look at Guzma, this damaged individual who hides his darkness behind a veil of ironclad resolve and dangerous tendencies. Your entire body thrums at the risk that steeps the air once you make the decision that could change your entire future. 

You remind yourself not to take it personally when Guzma flinches as you close the gap between your bodies, gently leaning your head against his shoulder. Trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, you stare wistfully out onto the darkening sky, missing the nervous glance he passes your way but not the subtle untensing of his posture as he relaxes, and you have to force down the smile that threatens to curl your lips. 

Guzma decides to break the silence. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, doll. I’ll just end up hurting you one way or another.” As if to drive his point home, he repeats himself for good measure in a voice that remains low and soft and it rumbles against the deepest parts of you, resonating. “Like I said, I’m not a good person.”

You’re vaguely aware that he’s trying to scare you away, a half-hearted threat. (That’s what some deep down part of you wanted to believe, anyway.) But wading through the pretext you understand what he’s trying to say; that getting mixed up with him will bring you nothing but trouble, trouble that’s followed him for much of his life. Something that he can’t escape from and neither will you.

With as much resolve as you can muster, your hand finds Guzma’s fist curled tightly against his thigh, giving it a gentle but reassuring squeeze which has him staring at you in what could only be described as surprise and disbelief. Tilting your gaze to meet his, you offer him a soft smile in response and your thoughts, true and pure come out in a whisper, ready and unwavering. “Could have fooled me.”  


—

Despite all of his posturing, Guzma tries to ignore the flame kindling in his chest as the words reach his ears. It’s a difficult action to undertake when coupled with the comforting throb emanating from where your hand cradles his, which seems to intensify with every passing moment. 

As some small mercy, you turned your attention to the ocean as emotions ran rampant on Guzma’s face. He would never voice the relief he felt as a result, but he was glad you could pick up on his cues, and the implication that you _ knew _ him suddenly has his blood simmering in his veins. 

What exactly were you playing at? Trying to cozy up to someone like _ him? _ Have you not been paying attention for the last however many weeks? Did it not bother you that he was the mastermind of Alola’s most well-known gang? Did you not care that he had basically taken you _ prisoner _ after your failed suicide attempt? 

All at once, Guzma finds calm at the thought, suddenly pensive and it shows on his face. The memories of that day come flooding back to him instantly, of seeing your unconscious form carried by the waves up to the shore, battered by the merciless ocean. And the fire building in your eyes when you first spoke to him, sheltering a darkness that told him tales of the things you were running away from, of the monsters haunting your every step, just like him. From that one day in the rain, how you had opened up to him about your Pokemon with his insisting and even the day you knocked on his door and turned his whole world upside down… 

Maybe it was him who wasn’t paying attention, letting all of these things get the better of him, making him _ feel _ things he wasn’t supposed to feel, and how quickly it was spiraling out of control. 

Give ya boy some credit, okay! Guzma wasn’t used to this sort of thing. Never really gave himself the… chance to get _ too _ close to anyone after those _ incidents_. Can’t get hurt if you don’t care about anyone, right? 

Yet he couldn’t deny that this felt… right. Good? _ Agh, _ confusing more like. Worth the risk, whispered a voice in the back of his head. But was he wrong to want this, whatever this was? Was all of this… okay? Could he _ actually _ allow himself to… 

Ever so slightly, almost hesitantly, he tilts his head and allows it to rest above yours; not fully, but just enough where his cheek brushes against your crown. 

There’s so much Guzma feels from so little contact; from the skipping in his heart to the slight perspiration on his palms, but standing above all else is the deep, dark part of him that demands _ more _ , wishing to be sated by what he had denied himself for so long. He finds ignoring the whispers to be a task growing more difficult by the second until he succumbs to the monsters clawing out of the cage in his chest. 

Guzma pulls away, unable to hide the longing in his gaze. He watches as surprise slowly dawns on your countenance as he laces his fingers through yours, just as the sun fades behind the horizon and all that’s left is the stars. 


	10. and keep my eyes above the waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg you guys I'm soooo sorry it's taken me this long to post an update! My computer kinda died on me last week and before that, the new Pokemon game came out... So anyway, updates are gonna be a little slower while I get my computer fixed but we're five chapters away from the end! I hope you guys enjoy this one (❁´◡`❁)

ten | **_and the world keeps turning_**

The world outside of the room doesn’t seem to exist. Even the gentle rumbling of the rain against the window can’t break the trance you find yourself in as you stare at Guzma’s slumbering form, fascinated by how peaceful he looks without a scowl or a smirk curling his lips either which way. 

There’s a bit of satisfaction that tiptoes through your chest knowing that you could see something so rare, something so heavily guarded. Like a treasure hoarded by a fierce dragon, only those found worthy may approach the snarling beast in its most vulnerable state.

How he convinced you to stay the night, you’ll never know. One moment, you’re basking in the shimmering moonlight at the secret cove as the ocean’s waves grow more bold and the next, you’re being pulled into Guzma’s room back at the Shady House by the big boss himself. 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you can recall the insistent hand from the night before that wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you toward the king-sized mattress in a general corner of the room before falling into its plush and messy sheets, ensnared by a strong set of arms that was adamant to let you go. (Another treasure claimed by the beast.)

Though you had awoken mere minutes before, you find yourself hyper aware of your current predicament — sharing a bed with a man you barely know, whose arm finds comfort snaked around your waist in an almost covetous grip, locked away in his room, in his “hideout,” in a town far from the reach of your previous life, and it all feels… good. Really good.

Really, _ really _ good, if you were to be so bold.

Caught up in your thoughts, you don’t realize that one of your hands had begun to stray until it connects with the skin of Guzma’s cheek, the pads of your fingers gently roving over to marvel at its softness despite the tight expressions he usually wore — a difference as great as day and night.

Keeping your touch as feather-light as possible, your fingers continue their exploring, tracing lazy patterns over his toned arms and occasionally brushing over an old scar, the bumps and ridges spelling out stories of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father in his youth. Recalling his words from the night previous, Guzma told you not to think about it — it was in the past and he made sure that it would stay that way.

One memory gives way to the next as an image of the scars on his back suddenly come to mind, the worst of the lot — the last straw, so to speak. You had seen them when he rolled over in the middle of the night, when slumber couldn’t take your racing mind and put it to rest and it took everything in your power not to touch them then and there. 

You weren’t entirely positive that he would welcome something so… intimate. 

Personal. 

The risk outweighed the appeal that came from the incessant voice that poked and prodded at your unsated curiosity, but you just couldn’t help it. To a slight degree, they filled you with a sense of admiration, if for nothing else but as a testament to Guzma’s strength — in the face of your abuse, your demons chased you off the side of a cliff while Guzma never stopped fighting his. In the same vein, however, you couldn’t shake the unease they carried, the heavy burdens and expectations and failures and disappointments that they spoke of, of dreams crashing down on his shoulders and how he held himself up in spite of it. 

And how all of it left this beautifully tragic mess in its wake.

“You gonna come here, or are ya gonna keep starin’?”

A lazy, somewhat contented smirk presses Guzma’s lips together as his vision steadily adjusts to the low-light of the room having roused from his slumber. With a yawn, Guzma scratches the back of his chaotic mess of hair and blinks away the tiredness behind his eyes, giving a light caress to your side with the hand still wrapped around it. And all the while, the lead weight that found a home in your heart persists over the shock of being caught basically ogling your sleeping companion and it’s written all over your face, evident by the apprehensive frown that quickly overtakes Guzma’s own. But Guzma doesn’t need to ask what’s on your mind; he knows. If the situation were flipped, he'd probably be thinking the same thing, to be honest. 

<strike> There’s a little voice in the back of his mind that says he would beat down _ anyone _ who would do such a thing to someone like you. </strike>

You try to keep your expression even as Guzma’s arms wrap tighter around your form, ending your long stare by pressing your face against his bare chest, nuzzling his own to the top of your head. There are no words spoken, but you notice the tension that had begun to build up in your shoulders steadily melt away. And that’s how you stay for what feels like hours, listening to his heart beat against your ear in rhythmic percussion, lulling in and out of sleep in Guzma’s embrace until a sudden hunger pang rumbles through your stomach and breaks the dreamy solitude of the room.

Guzma releases an amused chuckle. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he says, pulling a tank top from the floor over his bare chest and adjusting his sweatpants before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rising to his feet. He makes his way to the bedroom door and regards you over his shoulder before exiting, “Stay here, I’ll be right back, babe.”

With the bed mostly empty, you splay your body across the mattress with a sigh as your sight finds the ceiling, staring at the empty expanse with a hot blush spreading over your cheeks. 

_ Babe. _

It wasn’t the first time in the last twenty-four hours that he’s addressed you by this new endearment, but it certainly still tickles you when you hear it. And he says it without even batting an eye, not knowing what it does to your head or your heart, or the way it sticks to the inside of your ribs and sends frissions down your spine.

You wish you could live inside of this feeling.

You immediately sit up as Guzma returns with a flourish (which means he basically kicked open his door none too gently) not long after his departure, cradling a duo of malasadas in one hand and two steaming coffee mugs in the other. You take a guess as to what is inside, but before you can confirm your suspicions you excuse yourself to freshen up in the bathroom, which Guzma grudgingly mimics with a groan. However, it’s well worth the foamy, toothpaste-covered, somewhat goofy grin you give him for partaking in proper hygiene before you both (“_Finally _…”) return to his bed.

Sipping at the Tapu Cocoa warms you from the inside out as Guzma regales you with tales of his past battles, the great feats he’s accomplished as Team Skull’s leader. You lean against the headboard and just take it all in, letting him ramble to his heart’s content from his spot at the opposite end. In the middle of one of his more… delinquent-based stories, a light seems to go off in Guzma's head as he pauses, as if remembering something. 

“Hey, I got somethin’ for ya,” he says and reaches over the side of the bed, retrieving something that he hides behind his back once he comes back up. “Close your eyes.”

The look you give him, one that roughly translates into a suspicious ‘_what are you planning_’ kind of look, has him sputtering.

“Just-just trust me, okay?!”

With a quirk of your brow you comply, feeling the bed shift with his moving weight that tells you he’s directly in front of you, and you nearly jump at the sudden coldness that wraps around your neck. A slight weight settles over your chest, but you hold your breath, refusing to let yourself be tempted by looking too soon. 

“_Okaaay_, open ‘em.”

You do and immediately peer down, finding a familiar pendant sitting right on top of your chest — Team Skull’s signature insignia, strung through a chain to hang delicately around your neck. Awestruck, your eyes meet Guzma’s, and he offers you a lopsided <strike> (almost bashful)</strike> smirk. 

“I don’t know all of what yer running from,” he begins, tracing the edges of the pendant with his eyes, “hell, I don’t even know yer whole story or if ya even _ want _ me to know but I know yer one of us, babe. You don’t have to run anymore.” And you know he means it, evident from the light blush steadily making its way to the tips of his ears. 

You’re at a loss for words as your fingers give a gentle caress to the gleaming surface, the way it shines and reflects his words; a symbol of his promise. It’s enough to make your eyes mist over but you blink away the thrill in your chest and smile, probably the most genuine one you’ve ever felt before, and it’s all for him. It’s _ because _of him.

“Thank you, Guzma…” 

Guzma stares at you with wide eyes. What, did putting on the necklace make a second head appear on your shoulder or something? Or has he never had someone thank him before?

You’re about to question him when it suddenly occurs to you that you’ve never directly addressed him by his name, _ to his face_, before. It seems so trivial. You just slept in the _ same bed_, for goodness’ sake! But it doesn’t stop the laugh that suddenly bubbles out of your throat, soon joined by Guzma who comes down from his shock to chuckle alongside you before it turns into a full-blown cackle. 

Looking back at how all of this began, you _ never _ would have imagined things coming to this point. Two damaged people coming together in such an unconventional way and finding their own peace in a cruel, uncaring world? 

If you went back in time to explain this to your past self, you know how crazy you’d seem. There’s a microscopic part of you that doesn't believe it _ now. _

The laughter suddenly fades as your knees graze against Guzma’s, as if the contact shocks you back into your body and you’re extremely aware of how little space exists between you. You look up at Guzma who notices the precious inches that separate your forms growing smaller, and you're suddenly so close you can feel his almost labored breaths fanning across your face.

Oh, _ sure_, cuddling is one thing, but this was… different. _ Waaaaay _ different, almost as if a switch had been flipped and you remain powerless to the thoughts that quickly spiral out of control as you find your gaze wandering, drifting from his to his slightly parted lips.

You’d be lying if you said it never crossed your mind. 

What _ would _ happen if you dared to close the gap even further? Would he push you away? Would you chicken out before he had the chance?

It’s almost too much; the closeness, the anticipation, the curiosity. It eats away at you until Guzma’s fingers ghost over your cheek, and the goosebumps that follow causes a shiver down your spine. Your breathing hitches involuntarily at the tingling sparks left in its wake as the hum of your body calls out for more, more, _ more _.

A half-lidded gaze is all he has to offer. As a man starved for touch, Guzma remains entranced by the softness of your skin and the warmth that lies beneath it, just like the first time he held you. But you can see something hiding within the storming depths of his eyes, an unspoken question that pleads for an answer, one that you desperately wish to give him in order to relieve your own.

For a moment, all you can do is sit there, sharing breath, wondering who will take the leap. And by some small mercy, your desires are quelled as you rock forward just as Guzma breathes _ your name_, the resulting electrical jolt through your spine urging you to sate your burning curiosity by sealing your lips over his.

It’s everything you imagined it would be like and yet not all the same, full of something neither of you could possibly explain.

The rush is what gets to you first, the intimacy of it. The way Guzma’s lips that taste so vaguely like sweet chocolate vibrate with the hum emanating from his throat. And how your body thrums in response to it is downright insane. 

He’s so gentle, as if any sudden movement would cause you to break, shatter in the palm of his hands like many things he’s held in the past, unable to let go of the anger riddled deep in his bones. But you need more of, whatever this is, pressing yourself to sit flush against him as his hand wanders across the small of your back. It settles there and the warmth spreads; it felt it’s where it was meant to be.

You’re the first to pull away from the kiss to replenish the dying oxygen in your lungs, but you do not wander far before you’re connected with Guzma once again, much to his satisfaction. He pulls you closer still, to the point where you’re practically sitting in his lap, as if any space between your bodies threatened to encroach upon the feelings slowly seeping out from between your locked lips.

And time — this fleeting, precious moment — begins to slow just for the two of you. Everything else melts away until all that remained was this little world you created together, with the little voice in the swell of your heart that whispered hope that it would last forever.


	11. when oceans rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t you love foreshadowing?

eleven | **_dead in the water_**

The storm moved in without any warning, heavy clouds filled to the brim with endless blessings for the land below it, as if Po Town didn’t get enough of the stuff. Sure, the precipitation was a little heavier than usual and the wind was mighty ornery, threatening to knock down anything in its path, but those weren’t things that you were going to let hinder your task.

Not today, you told yourself.

After all, it took a lot of effort to convince Guzma that berry picking with a few of the grunts was a good idea — that it would give you the chance to see what was forageable in the area and improve a lot of recipes you wanted to make for the team. (It took a <strike> bribe</strike> promise or two of as many musubis as he could possibly stomach to push him to make the final decision.) 

Besides, you were heading out with Kaipo and Parker; the numbers would help to keep you “invisible” since no one would dare (or bother) getting this close to Po Town with Team Skull lurking about. Not to mention the mess that came along with crossing paths with the often misguided youths of Alola; something that was often more trouble than it was worth. This would work out in your favor, thankfully. No chance of anyone recognizing you along the hauntingly familiar road just beyond Po Town, not that you think anyone would try to tangle with the storm threatening to knock you off your feet.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when a faint yet frantic cry barely makes it over the storming seas, stopping you in your tracks. It’s so weak you think you’re hallucinating at first, but the sight of an overturned bicycle near a railing you know all too well makes your heart suddenly halt mid-beat. 

There’s a nervous chuckle that gets stuck in your throat that you have to force down in order to start breathing again. Maybe someone just left it there, _ ha ha_, that had to be it, right? Just a mere coincidence that there was an abandoned bike _ right here _ next to this railing that you know leads to a watery demise. Someone from Team Skull probably scared away its owner who fled to safety through Ula’ula Meadow. Yeah, that’s a pretty rational explanation. (_And by the Guardian Deities do you wish it to be true._) 

Meanwhile Kaipo and Parker, who had been trailing behind you in leisurely conversation, take notice of your still form and simultaneously arch their brows in confusion. Parker tries to get your attention, though to no avail. You don’t allow their calling of your moniker to break your concentration, keeping your ears tuned to any semblance of the cry you heard, or at least something to indicate you that you were truly going insane. There was more comfort in that thought.

And after a moment, that's when you hear it, louder than any storm or breaking waves-

“_Someone! Please! Help me!_”

Your head snaps in the direction of the cliff at the sound, confirming the worst of your fears — what you prayed so hard against. The panic that spikes in your veins urges your legs forward as you race to the fencing, catching the two Grunts off guard. 

“Sis! What’re ya doin’?!” Parker shouts at your sudden rashness.

But you don’t hear him, not with the way the metal bar rattles in your taut grasp. You search, desperate and determined, until your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as frenzied eyes land on the source of the cry- _ A kid?! _

Behind you, the others begin to sprint in your direction, alarm written on their faces. 

“Sis, get away from there!” yells the evergreen-headed male.

“Yeah, come on!” Kaipo’s voice joins his partner's. “Stop playing around, you’re gonna get hurt!”

But the only response you have for them is action as you leap over the metal barrier, <strike> a practiced motion</strike> not even sparing a thought as to how you’re going to get back up before you jump over the edge of the cliff with Parker’s hand just shy of grabbing onto yours. 

The Grunts’ conjoined shouts drown out in the face of the squall. There is nothing that matters to you, not even your own safety, more than the child whose life teeters in the palm of your hands.

—

“Big G!” “Mr. Guzmaaaaa!”

Guzma spares a glance at the intrusion suddenly stumbling into his room, his fingers ceasing their movement on the keyboard of his laptop in response. 

“What is it? Ya boy is busy today,” Guzma replies as Kaipo and Parker double over to catch their breaths in front of his throne, looking worse for wear. But the duo have his full attention as they frantically recite your name in a panicked rush to get the words out, making Guzma slowly rise from his seat, eyebrows creased.

“What? What about her?” He implores them, admittedly worried. Did something happen? Were you okay? He _ knew _ he shouldn’t have let you go without him, but that smile of yours is so easy to get lost in… But that’s besides the point! “Hurry up and spit it out!”

Parker is the first to catch his breath, and with dread in his throat replies, “She’s lost her mind, boss! She jumped over the railing!”

Guzma is out the door before they even have a chance to blink.

The front doors of the Shady House are thrown open as Guzma sprints out, unperturbed by the winds and sheets of rain that attempt to hold him back. 

_ Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck were you thinking, babe?! _ Guzma thoughts race as fear — something he hadn’t felt in ages — suddenly grips him, thinking the worst. _ Were you really… not happy being with... _

Guzma practically flies out of the barricaded walls of Po Town as if the Devil himself was on his heels. He doesn’t know where his feet are taking him but he feels compelled ever forward, searching for an answer to a question he’s not so sure he wants an answer to. 

The universe seems fit to answer it for him regardless as a familiar voice pierces through the hazy fog of his thoughts, causing Guzma to skid to a halt before charging toward it. His lungs thankfully hold out long enough for him to reach the sound, stopping before a stainless steel fence that leads to… 

Peering over the steep cliff face Guzma finds you — by some miracle — clinging to the precipice with one arm while the other wound securely around a little boy. He nearly doubles over at the sight as things begin to click into place, but he realizes he has no time to be relieved. He needs to take action _ now_, before he loses you for real.

A crowd of grunts begin to form around Guzma, alerted by the sight of their boss sprinting out of Po Town like a Zubat out of Mount Lanakila. The small mob slowly takes notice of your form in its precarious predicament and horror spreads amongst the group.

“Oh my God, new sis is down there!” “What are we gonna do, Boss?!” “We gotta save her!”

“Bring me some fuckin’ rope!”

The thick, coarsely braided rope is in his hands so quick he doesn’t have time to mull over where or why it was stashed outside in the first place. All Guzma thinks about is how your life is quite literally hanging by a thread, or in this case the rope he secures around his waist.

Plumeria approaches their leader, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Guzma nods to her in turn as she releases him, and she immediately takes up the helm to the others who grip the rope like a lifeline behind him. 

“_Heave-ho!_” 

A chorus of voices signal his descent down the cliff and Guzma braces himself as the full-force of the howling gale pushes him toward the rocky face. The ride is a bit rough, but as the familiar voices heard above the raging storm gradually begin to fade, he knows that it won’t be much longer now until you’re safely on dry land where you belong and not teetering on the edge of life and death. 

—

The sound of your name carries clearly in an echo by some force you don’t quite comprehend yet are compelled to find. Heavenward your gaze travels, and it lands on Guzma just as he opens his mouth to call for you once more. And though you’re too tired to look the part, a sense of comfort settles in your chest at the sight of Guzma scaling the cliff, determination set deeply in his eyes. 

A small pair of hands wrapping tighter around your neck draws your attention away from Guzma and you look down, vision immediately met with a tearful gaze. Mustering up your most reassuring smile, you tighten your hold on the child you’ve halfway rescued from certain death.

“It’s okay, Arthur,” you whisper to the boy whose name you managed to learn through his tears, “help is coming. We’re gonna be okay.”

Arthur in turn tucks his face into the crook of your neck in search of comfort despite the rocky seas. You tighten your hold on him before turning back to Guzma, who kicks off the wall once he’s nears the line where the land and the ocean meets, landing beside you in the water with a hearty splash. Almost immediately, Guzma’s strong, familiar arms secure themselves around your shivering form. He looks so worried, perpetuated in the questions he bombards you with as soon as he has the chance.

“Are you okay? Yer not hurt, are ya? Have you got a screw loose?! What were you thinkin’, jumpin’ in like that?!”

You respond with a weary smile to each one, leaning into every touch of his hands checking over the bumps and bruises sustained during your endeavor. (And he’s so warm, you don’t want him to ever let go.)

Arthur scrambles in your hold at the sudden, new presence in the water, forcing you out of your thoughts. He bursts into fresh tears as Guzma pulls a face that looks all sorts of uncomfortable, but being adaptable as he is, Guzma is quick to push it aside. 

Much to your amazement, Guzma lays a hesitant hand on the child’s head. “Don’t worry, kid,” Guzma does his best to be reassuring, “Imma get you both outta here.” Guzma looks a little relieved, almost proud as Arthur peeks out with a whimper and hopeful, pleading eyes, ultimately settling down a bit once he deems the older male less of a threat. 

And as much as you’d like to savor the moment, the chance doesn’t come. 

It only takes a fraction of a second, but the moment you allow your guard to drop your strength immediately begins to wane, and quickly at that. The deadness of your arms becomes just a _ little _ more apparent and the throb in your lungs grows a _ smidge _ more unbearable than you’re prepared to deal with. And suddenly, every agonizing ache that the initial adrenaline rush pushed you through comes crashing down upon every muscle fiber in your body as you lose track of your breath. Realization hits you as it comes out shallow and cold, seeping through your words.

“Guzma…” you beckon for his attention through haggard breaths and you receive it immediately. “You can’t… carry both… of us.” Doing your best to hide the fact that your arms are just about ready to give out, you somehow manage to pry Arthur off of you to thrust him into Guzma’s grasp. “Take him first!”

“Are you fuckin’ crazy?!” Guzma balks with wide eyes as Arthur clambers into his hold and he nearly chokes at the vice-like grip suddenly around his neck, “I’m not leavin’ you!”

But time is wearing thin as the thundering clouds grow angrier, inciting the ocean’s wrath. Its waves turn rougher, nearly lapping over your head to drag you under by any means necessary. And you’ve been through this before, lived to tell the tale of how unforgiving Mother Nature can be to know that's there’s no time, no time, no time! 

All of your frustrations come to a head with a loud crack of thunder, and you are forced to gather all of the oxygen pumping through your lungs in order to scream at him, “Just _ GO!_”

Guzma is taken aback for a second before his expression changes, morphs into something that poorly hides the way he’s fighting with himself. (And all you feel churning in your gut is regret.) But he eventually gives you a reluctant nod, and you respond with a tired smile and a small utterance of “thank you” that doesn’t reach his ears. 

With your other arm now free you’re able to grip the craggy wall as Guzma adjusts Arthur in his grasp, tugging on the rope once the child is secure. He begins to ascend wordlessly, but there’s a fire in his eyes that says, “don’t get comfortable, I'm coming back for ya” that makes it just a _ little _ easier for you to wait your turn.

It’s a little touch-and-go but Guzma makes it to the top before long, disappearing from your sight for a fraction of a second before he climbs over the precarious railing empty-handed, and for what you hoped was the last time. The ride is easier the second time with the bit of experience he garnered from the first so he’s back down the cliff in what feels like a flash. (You _ might _ have blacked out for a moment from exhaustion, but we’re not focusing on that right now.) Guzma reaches a hand out to you when the proximity is favorable, and in the cloudy haze of consciousness you drift in and out of perhaps from ingesting too much seawater, you muse that for someone who said otherwise, Guzma sure looked like a hero right now in your book; a real knight in shining armor if you’d ever seen one. 

His hand, rough and familiar, encloses around yours and relief shines in his eyes, contrasting to the weary smirk you’re thankful to see. “I got you, babe,” Guzma assures you, pulling your body to his, “and I’m _ not _ leaving you again.” 

Guzma tugs on the length of rope, signaling the others to start the final leg of the rescue. You cling to him with every ounce of your remaining strength, trembling hands gripping the sleeves of his jacket as if it was the only thing keeping you tethered to this earthly plane. He does the same, holding you so tightly to his chest you’re practically smothered in his shirt. 

Almost there.

Salt water clings to your bones as you ascended, closer to the promise of dry land. Raucous cheers gradually grow louder the further up you go and your lips quiver at the sound; tears that you can no longer hold back stream down your pallid cheeks. Guzma is quick to disperse them before pressing his lips to your temple, whispering every encouragement he can to assure you that _ you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re going to be okay. _ And you smile because you believe him.

As you allow yourself to be cradled in Guzma’s embrace, the ringing in your ears transforms into an angel’s choir and all of the tension built up in your muscles slowly subsides. Your gaze wanders, catching a glimpse of a single, golden ray of sunlight piercing through the darkened clouds like a light at the end of a long tunnel. It’s beautiful, breathtaking, and you swear you can feel your luck turning around just from the sight alone. 

_ It’s over, it’s almost over… _ your tired mind sighs, overwhelmed with relief, just as a rogue wave washes up and swallows you both whole.

—

From atop the cliff, the entirety of Team Skull grabs ahold of the rapidly slipping rope, digging their feet into the ground to prevent the bodies at the end of it from being swept away.

“Don’t you dare let go!” Plumeria’s command strains through her teeth over a chorus of determined shouts, calling upon any adrenaline-fueled strength left in their bodies to keep you and Guzma from going and staying under.

The sick game of tug-of-war with Mother Nature finally ends after what feels like a lifetime of bated breath as the wave drops back into the endless ocean. 

Guzma resurfaces with a loud gasp, shaking the salt water out of his hair. The coughing that follows is involuntary, but his body works to expel the water in his lungs with a final hack, allowing him to breathe properly once more. 

Well, that was a bit inconvenient he has to admit, but it’s nothing ol’ Guzma can’t handle. Having had it up to _ here _ with this damn storm, Guzma tugs on the rope again to let his squad know it’s okay to keep pulling. 

But he doesn’t move.

Confusion writ on his face, Guzma looks up, greeted by a sea of horrified faces that have been trying to get his attention. The Grunts are pointing, shouting at him, but he can’t make out the words. Maybe you could hear them?

Guzma peers down to ask, and freezes, his heart stops beating for a fraction of a second. He looks to his hand again, empty and cold. You’re not on the end of it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re in it now bois :)


	12. my soul will rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pressure of fame.
> 
> The pressure of success.
> 
> The pressure of the ocean.
> 
> It all ends the same, doesn’t it?

twelve | **_relapse_**

_ Is this the zenith of your ability? _

_ You’re letting everyone down again. _

_ A failure to no end. _

Despite the tempest that rages beyond it, under the waves, everything is quiet save for the ambient noise of the ocean and the sound of your heart drumming thunderously in your ears. Here, the waves of the undertow — though strangely serene — prove too strong to fight against as it drags your limp body deeper and deeper into the darkness below.

You’re tired. 

So very tired.

How long were you holding onto that little boy before help arrived? And how much longer now before that same help came to save you? It’s too much to think about, but there's an irony that escapes you at the moment while clinging to the thought of being rescued before it was too late. 

It steadily dawns on you that you’ve been here before, at the mercy of the same ocean in the exact same place you were before. How could you forget — it’s what landed you in this whole… situation in the first place, carving out a new life for yourself with Team Skull. 

Huh.

Maybe it was all just a dream. Maybe the last few weeks had never happened in the first place. Perhaps your mind saw fit to give you one last (albeit bizarre) daydream to cling to in the murky depths before it was all over, before you inevitably succumbed to your prolonged death.

It would certainly make sense. There was _no way_ you could have washed up on a secret cove where Guzma — the big, <strike>bad</strike> not so bad boss of Team Skull — just so happened to find you, barely clinging to life. There was _no way_ he saved you, either. There was definitely _no way_ you could find a lifetime’s worth of happiness in just weeks’ time after _years upon years _of stifling pressure and abuse, with a group of wayward kids and their eccentric leader of all things… 

But you did. 

You did, and it was all real, and you loved it. You loved every minute of it, even those initial bumps in the road. 

And that thought makes it all the more heartbreaking. 

You’ve known misery all your life, but you never thought fate could be so cruel to dangle joy and love and acceptance in front of you as if you could _ actually _ have it, only to rip it away as you were _ this close _ to holding it in your hands. 

Were you crying? Or was that the sting of the salt water slowly pulling you toward the cold depths of its embrace?

A watery sob escapes you in the form of precious air bubbles drifting gently to the fading light of the surface almost mockingly. It’s then that the realization strikes that this is where you were going to die — that this was always how you were meant to die whether it was by your choice or not. 

You wanted more time. 

To live the life you wanted.

To fulfill the dreams you were forced to let go of.

To see the world with your Pokemon.

To see the misjudged group of people who have become your cherished friends.

To see… 

To see… 

_ Guzma…_

Your chest tightens painfully at the thought and at the compression of the water that squeezes it, steadily crushing you from the inside out. 

It would all be over soon, solidified by the shadows that creep over the corners of your eyes as your consciousness begins to flicker and fade away. 

This was it, the escape you had once longed for, dreamed of; and in your final moments, all you could do was…


	13. in your embrace

thirteen | **_don’t look back_**

Plumeria’s hands latch swiftly onto the back of Guzma’s jacket as he reaches the top of the cliff. She hauls him over the railing roughly as Guzma stumbles over his feet into the crowd of Grunts who are quick to catch him before he falls. 

Guzma is soon reoriented and immediately takes a step back toward the barriered drop-off. He doesn’t make it far before a hand clamps down on his wrist, iron-tight and unwavering.

“G, what are you doing?” Plumeria’s voice snaps Guzma out of his autonomous stupor and the frown on her lip deepens. “You can’t go back there, you’ll get yourself killed!”

But it’s as if he doesn’t hear her with the way he stares out into the storm, fixated, like a sailor beckoned to a siren’s sea. It takes all of her strength to keep Guzma from pulling out of her grasp, to keep him on this side of the dividing line between life and death. 

“I’m going,” he mumbles and she can barely hear him, “I have to…”

“None of us have any water Pokemon, G,” Plumeria tries to reason as his struggling intensifies. “The waves are too rough! We can call the old man, he’ll be able to help-”

“There’s no time, I’m going in after her.”

Guzma’s resolve proves stronger than Plumeria’s grip as he breaks free, leaving Plumeria with a look of wild shock that quickly boils over into unabashed anger. 

“Guzma!” she shouts, but her fire is dampened down immediately by the look the boss gives her as he spins around, facing her. If not for the rain, she would swear there were actual tears in his eyes. 

“Plumes, _please!!!_” Guzma's voice — raw and desperate — shakes everyone present, including himself. “I can’t just leave her! She’s down there, and I’m the only one who can…!”

Despite every argument that runs through her head, Plumeria knows he’s right. Even though every fiber of her being screams to _keep Big G safe_, she knows… 

She knows, she knows, she knows, dammit! If something wasn’t done soon, you’d surely be… 

Plumeria grits her teeth.

Muffled gasps arise from the gathered Skull members as she shoves him, nearly knocking Guzma into the metal hurdle. Confusion mars the boss’s face at her sudden hostility. However, before he can question his second-in-command, Plumeria beats him to the punch.

“You better come back in one piece!” she shouts above the roaring storm as the others rally behind her, determination and something he can’t quite explain ablaze in her eyes. “Do you hear me? I won’t let you come back up until you’re _both_ on the other end of this line!”

For a moment, Guzma remains frozen, as if struck by a rampant Ice Beam with his feet rooted to the ground. A beat and a nod pass between them as Guzma leaps over the fence and with no hesitation plunges into the turbulent surf. 

The water chills him to the bone instantly as he sinks below the surface waves, but Guzma doesn’t let it hinder him as he immediately begins his descent. To say that he’s hellbent would be an understatement, having already decided that he’s not going up without you. But it’s dark, so dark; with the storm brewing overhead it’s almost impossible to see his hand in front of his face. And yet, Guzma doesn’t let that stop him. He won’t give up. He can’t, not until he has you in his arms again, even with the impending threat of getting crushed by the weight of the ocean looms in the back of his mind. 

Just as Guzma’s lungs begin to burn, a stray bit of light breaks through the darkness, catching the reflection against _something_ as the glint draws his eye. 

Wait. 

_Could that be…? _

Guzma swims faster, willing his arms and legs to cut through the water at a break-neck pace despite the persistent ache in his chest. His tenacity pays off.

_There! _

Like a shining beacon in the dead of night, the Team Skull pendant he gifted you remains tethered around your neck while your unconscious form is left to the mercy of the underwater swell, pulling you further and further from his reach. Determination sets Guzma forward and he reaches out, clamping his hand over your wrist to prevent you from drifting away. Something in him sings at the sensation under his fingertips as he pulls your form to his, clutching you close. It’s enough to make him forget that you’re both drifting dangerously far from safety, at the mercy of a storm that wants you both dead. Reality sets in as he nearly calls your name and the resulting influx of water seeping into his mouth makes him jolt.

_Focus, dammit, focus!_

Guzma swims, faster than he’s ever done so before. It’s a race to get you back to the surface before you were gone for good. But the ocean is so heavy, and though he’s nearly weightless in it, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still trying to haul himself and another body against something that feels like it’s purposely trying to keep him down. Still, he fights it. He fights it tooth and nail and he’s not quitting, because he promised his team that he wouldn’t come back without you; he promised you that he would never leave you ever again.

Just when the shadows threaten to overtake him, Guzma finally breaks through the surface, replenishing _just_ enough oxygen in his lungs in order to shout, “_Pull us up!!!_” while frantically tugging on the rope affixed to his waist. He watches it tighten until the lasso begins pulling you both toward the cliff and then up it, and doesn't even care that the frenzied tugging makes him crash into the rocks a few times on the way up in an effort to protect your form from it. 

“We’re… almost there,” he whispers haggardly against your temple, not even certain you can hear him. “Just a… lil’ more, okay? Just hang in there, baby. Just… hang in there…”

After what feels like an eternity, Guzma’s feet hit dry land and he swears a hundred hands are on him, helping him clamber over the fence that he’s going to tear down and replace with a cement wall to prevent this kind of thing from happening ever again. 

His legs have since turned into lead weights, but Guzma manages to limp forward until he collapses to his knees, clutching your unconscious form so tightly that if you were breathing before, you certainly wouldn’t be now. Team Skull members surround him, all with shows of concern on their faces, attempting to get a view of the harrowing scene.

“Boss, you okay?” “What can we do?” “Is new sis gonna be alright?!” “Give ‘em some room, y’all!” 

The voices of his underlings overlap each other painfully, making Guzma’s head spin. Despite the distractions, all of his attention falls to you and that’s where it remains, blocking out everything else as he numbly checks you over and realizes his worst fear. 

You’re not breathing.

“No. No, no, no…” Guzma mumbles softly, bringing a pale hand to rest over your equally pale cheek while its twin cradles you tenderly in his grasp. He gives your frigid pallor a few gentle pats, willing warmth into it as he jostles you slightly, hoping to jolt you awake. It does not work.

“C’mon, you gotta wake up,” he speaks to ears that do not hear him, except maybe those who remain hovered around him. “Yer stronger than this, aren’t ya?” Guzma’s nervous chuckle does not bode well to his people as your name becomes a whispered prayer on his lips. “I don’t… I can’t lose…”

Hysteria worms its way into the crowd and through Guzma’s heart as his shoulders slump, defeated. The tempest incited by Mother Nature begins to thunder even harder, drowning out his sudden enraged roar to the heavens, cursing the ache slowly spreading from his chest to his throat. And it’s all such a sad sight to see — the big bad leader of Alola’s most notorious gang, slumped to his knees over your unmoving body, his grief unfurling in those around him. Many turn away to spare themselves the image of their strong leader in such a vulnerable, almost forbidden state. 

The mourning is debilitating.

That is until you’re removed from Guzma’s grasp before he can even blink away his tears, and he’s left to watch dumbfounded as Plumeria lowers you quickly yet carefully on the ground. The boss holds back his shout as she leans over your still form and pinches your nose shut, using her other hand to guide your lips open before closing the distance with her own, administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Guzma scrambles over, watching awestruck as Plumeria continues to work air into your lungs while the rest of Team Skull does the same yet at a more respectable distance. A tense silence has since enveloped the group and suspense grips Guzma’s spine as the agonizing minutes tick on. 

He feels so powerless, watching as Plumeria compresses your chest at a steady rhythm when mouth-to-mouth becomes insufficient. There really isn’t much he can do, despite being so adamant to admit it. He can’t even offer to step in and switch off when Plumes starts to tire, seen in the way her breathing begins to labor. 

And a darkness he thought he had left in the past begins to swirl in his head. 

_ **Can’t you do ** _ **anything_ right?! _**

He _tried_, he really _tried_.

_ **You’re a ** _ **failure_. _**

But he’s done everything he can.

_ **Nothing but a worthless, useless failure!** _

Guzma closes his eyes. 

His palms intertwine, clenching white-knuckled tight.

And he prays. 

Guzma is by no means a religious man, not in the slightest. Even if he was, past experience has shown him that the whole exercise is near for naught, as prayers are not coins that can be fed into a machine and in turn it spits out a favor. But he figures that at the time that he needed them to be answered, perhaps it was just simply too late to save someone like _him_. However, by the guardian deities, it wasn’t too late for _you_. 

_Please…! _

Plumeria pulls away as a lungful of seawater is expelled from your lips in a fit of coughs, and by some miracle, you’re breathing again. The second seat of Team Skull swipes at her brow and replenishes her own breath as your chest rises and falls in stutters, and though it is not the most ideal state, you’ve crossed the threshold back into the world of the living. 

A whirlwind of emotions takes over the entirety of Team Skull. Hugs and cheers are exchanged all around as Plumeria rests on her knees, crisis averted, allowing the rain to cool her tired mind. 

“Plumes.”

A hand lands on Plumeria’s shoulder and she follows the voice it belongs to, locking in on Guzma’s relieved face. Her golden gaze regards the boss and he sighs, a faint smile curling the corner of his lips.

“G…”

“Thank you,” he says, full of meaning, his grip on her shoulder tightening ever so.

Plumeria only has the chance to nod before her attention is stolen away, a pair of dainty arms wrapping around her form, followed by another and another. A sea of bodies encircles her, all clamoring in praise, hailing her as a hero for saving your life. She manages to smile despite her fatigue, surrounded by the cheers of her dear little brothers and sisters.

Guzma watches the scene for a moment longer before he allows his shoulders to slack. His mind does not wander far before he regards your form, immediately moving to pull you carefully against his chest. The movement seems to disagree with you slightly as a soft groan permeates the air, and yet Guzma is so relieved that you’re responsive that he can’t help but hold you tighter. He pushes the hair clinging to your face as your eyes flutter open between breaths.

“We _really_ gotta stop meetin’ like this, babe,” Guzma's lighthearted tone betrays the fear, the worry, the ache that permeates his chest. 

A panic he did not miss sends a chill down his spine when your lips move and no words come out, and suddenly Guzma is as pale as you are. 

“What?” he says with a nervous chuckle, leaning closer. “I can’t hear ya, darlin’.” 

Even with his ear next to your mouth, all he can hear is the breath in your lungs, wafting warmly against his face. Guzma sits up to study your countenance, brows knitting together at the ghostly smile you give him in return. Your mouth moves again, slower this time, as a trembling hand reaches up feebly to brush against his cheek.

And then it falls.

“Hey, hey!” Guzma says your name in alarm as your consciousness begins to drift behind closed eyes and bated breaths. “Come on, stay awake!”

The storm overhead finally breaks and though it is short lived, for the first time in Po Town’s recorded history, it stops raining.


	14. for I am yours

fourteen | **_the hunter and the haunted_**

_Hey!_

_…on, stay aw…ke!_

_Don’t g… _

_…awake, o… _

_Please…_

There’s a jolt of electricity that runs across your crown that forces you upright with a start. It happens so fast the air in your lungs gets stuck and you nearly choke on the intake, forcing a panicked hyperventilation to become your only option.

Your breathing regulates in time, long enough for the panic in your veins to settle into cautiousness as your line of sight drifts, taking in the unfamiliar, starkly white room that smells far too much like antiseptic. The sudden nausea bubbling in your stomach dissipates as confusion quickly takes over, written all over your face.

_How did I get here?_ you wonder, pulling at the sheets of the bed you find yourself in and marveling at the new bandages wrapped securely around your arms.

What was going on?

_Think, just think,_ you urge yourself, rubbing your temples to ease the slight ache behind your eyes, emitting a groan from your throat as the pieces slowly fall into place.

You remember… Po Town, the storm and the frightened cries of the little boy that got caught up in it.

You remember Kaipo and Parker desperately calling your name as you reach the steel partition that separated you and certain death.

You remember jumping.

You remember…

Guzma.

_Oh. That’s right… I almost… _

Shaking your head of the thoughts (a move you immediately regret in the form of a sharp, stabbing pain in your neck), you slowly look around the darkened room and find it devoid of any other life, solidifying the reality that you were in fact completely alone.

<strike>Not entirely.</strike>

“Well, well, look who’s up.”

Ignoring the ache you force yourself to face the sudden intrusion only to find a rather dour man standing at the door, and judging by the look in his deep scarlet irises, he’s not the least bit happy to see you.

<strike>The feeling was quite mutual.</strike>

With his hands shoved in his pockets, the man doesn’t wait to be invited in but instead ambles slowly into the room, taking his time. Every step he takes feels as though it knocks another year off of your life expectancy, what little of it possibly remained after nearly drowning _twice_, at least.

Without a word, your visitor drags a spare chair from the corner of the room and settles it a short distance from the side of your bed before slouching in it, examining your form as you try to swallow your unease. His arms dangle at his sides, his posture quite lax before his neutral frown breaks, suddenly reciting your full name like a death sentence which causes dread and a sharp chill to run up your spine.

Sweat dots your forehead and you gulp, addressing him in return, “O-officer… Nanu…”

“Good to see your brain’s still working, at least,” he says in his familiar lackluster tone while scratching the back of his graying locks. He lazily eyes the charts lining the wall. “Well, somewhat.”

Though you begrudge the statement, the resounding throb behind your forehead agrees with Nanu. You’re pretty sure a few brain cells got knocked out of your ears during your whole tussle with the ocean, so you’re left to rely on Ula’ula’s resident kahuna for answers.

“…where am I…?” you ask, sitting up a little more in the bed.

“Pokemon Center,” he replies. “You’ve been unconscious for three days. Nurse Joy’s been monitoring your condition, trying to keep you stable after your mishap.”

That explains a lot — the bandages, the room, the unease you felt ever since you woke up here. Medical institutions and you never mixed all too well.

“But that’s besides the point,” Nanu interrupts your thoughts, pulling out a manila folder from under one of his arms and laying it in his lap, which you eye curiously, if not cautiously. The dead silence that follows is so uncomfortable, you wish you were still unconscious.

When he suddenly speaks, you nearly jump out of your skin. “Your family’s been looking for you, girl,” he drones, not missing the alarmed light that touches your tired eyes. “But by the look on your face, my guess is that you don’t want them finding you, right?”

When you fail to respond, not that he expected you to, he lifts the dossier in full view.

“Do you see this folder in my hand?”

You nod stiffly.

“Can you guess what’s inside?”

You nod again as he wordlessly flips it open, shuffling around the documents within until he settles on one he likes.

“Eldest daughter of Malie City’s highest ranking city manager. At the age of eleven, was recognized as one of the youngest and most proficient trainers to clear the island challenge and was granted the title of island challenge champion, with strong potential to be a prospective candidate for island kahuna…” Piercing vermillion eyes lock onto yours as he snaps the manila folder shut, making you flinch. You attempt to swallow your nervousness as he continues to speak. “Did you think you could fly under the radar for long with that kind of paper trail? I thought your dear ol’ dad taught you better than that.”

“I-I have my reasons, okay,” you manage to stutter out, voice hoarse and strained as your eyes dance with a kindling flame. “You wouldn’t understand…”

Nanu doesn’t look impressed. “It’s my job to understand, kid.”

All semblance of your fire dies in that moment, extinguished by the older man’s more pressing aura. (_Dark-types, man…_) You’re not even sure why you thought it was a good idea to try and challenge him. He always had a penchant for knocking away each and every excuse you managed to throw at him, and this time was no different.

“You’ve caused me a lot of grief these last few weeks, y’know. I’ve tried to stay away from the _mess_,” and he emphasizes that word a lot, “that you’ve gotten yourself into, but it’s difficult with your dad knocking down my door every damn day, questioning my investigation.”

Your palms tighten in your lap. A terrifying realization washes over you at the thought of just how _close_ you were to being found, to being dragged back to the prison you called home for all of your life.

Nanu stares you down. “So are you going to tell me why I shouldn’t call him right now and put an end to this whole game you’re playing? This cat-and-mouse chase you got going on?”

There’s no sense in lying at this point. There’s nothing you can say that Nanu probably doesn’t already know, he’s just waiting for you to slip up, you know it.

And you’re so tired, so defeated by this whole ordeal, it permeates your voice. “You _know_ him, Officer Nanu. Isn’t that enough?” A sigh escapes you as your shoulders turn inward, guarded. “You know what he’s like…”

For a moment, Nanu doesn’t respond. The sharpness of his gaze remains ever-unsettling before it suddenly drops to the floor as he scratches the back of his head, sighing, “Yeah, unfortunately…”

You would have laughed if not for the glossy tears that mist over your vision, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation.

“Regardless,” he recovers quickly, “that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a missing persons report out for you, and now that you’ve been found, this investigation can finally be put to rest and your _warden_ will finally leave me alone.”

And as much as you want to argue, you know he’s right. It’s literally his _job_ to hunt down people like you and return them to where they belong, among other things. But couldn’t he make an exception? Just this once?

The chill that runs down your spine tells you that Nanu's deep stare has once again returned to you, but you don’t dare to meet his gaze. It’s not like you could just up and ask him for something like that. You couldn’t ask him to continue shouldering the pressure your father must be weighing on his back to find you. Nanu _is_ a kahuna, with far more responsibilities than anyone else on the entire island, and you’re sure the Tapu wouldn’t appreciate him shirking his duties.

“No use in delaying the inevitable,” Nanu speaks, moving to rise out of his chair, and you know what’s coming. You can practically hear the jingling keys of your jailer approaching ever closer as the kahuna continues, “After all, a princess does not belong outside of her ivory tower.”

The words have you glowering at the memories it dredged. You _despised_ that term. It followed you around like a shadow, haunted you like the monsters under a child’s bed. And you _know_ Nanu knows this, too — it’s a cheap tactic to get a reaction out of you, you’re sure.

And it works.

_His_ voice rings against your ear, sickeningly sweet and downright poisonous as if he stood in the room with you, hovering over your shoulder as he always did.

“_**Princess**, everything I do, I do for you. For your success, your future. Your happiness is guaranteed as long as you **listen to me**.”_

And yet, after twenty some-odd years of following his every instruction without error, never questioning his reasonings and treating his every word as law, why was everything you did never good enough?

Why were _you_ never good enough?

Why would he even _bother_ looking for you if you could never make him proud? If all you ever did was mess up and disappoint him at every turn?

Darkness, warped and bitter, begins to swell at the base of your chest. “All I wanted was to live for _myself_,” you mutter, stopping Nanu from leaving his seat. “is that so wrong?”

And ever the quick wit, Nanu replies without missing a beat, “That the reason you decided to shack up in Po Town this whole time? To get back at your old man? To hide in the one spot he might never look?”

You’re so caught off guard by the sudden allegation that you can’t find the words to speak and instead gape at him like a fish out of water. He _knew?_ But how? You were so careful!

All of your fortitude goes out the window, leaving behind your stuttering mess. “N-no, I-”

The dark smirk growing on Nanu’s lips does not bode well in your gut. “Decided that aligning yourself with the misfits he sought so desperately to keep you from would get your point across?”

You’d like to argue back, but he won’t let you get a damn word in edgewise. “That’s not-!”

“Or could it be that you were kidnapped and indoctrinated by a certain Team Skull leader-”

“**SHUT UP!**”

Your scream bounces off the walls, echoing briefly, and leaves behind a tense silence that goes hand-in-hand with the rattling of your bed that quakes from your fists balled against the sheets. Fire dances behind the anger in your eyes and scorches your lungs painfully, but you don’t seem to find the care.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don’t know anything! It wasn’t like that! It wasn’t like that _at all!_”

Your little tantrum subsides gradually with the leveled look Nanu gives you, and after a few moments, the intense stare-down has you settling back into place. It’s a harrowing reminder that you’re not just talking to a _police officer_ but an _island kahuna_ as well; there is a measure of respect you’re obligated to keep in this situation.

Taking a moment to steady yourself, you breathe deeply before you even dare to speak again. “Guzma would never… Team Skull did not… kidnap me.” (At first. On a _technicality,_ you weren’t lying.) “They… saved me. All of them did, in more ways than one.” And your shoulders begin to tremble, just as your voice does. “If not for them, I might not be… I might not be-”

“Cool your jets, kid.”

Your head snaps up and immediately you’re met with Nanu’s scarlet irises boring into your very soul.

He flashes a smirk. “Just teasing.”

Wait.

Seriously.

_Seriously?!_

Mouth agape, your blood begins to burn hotly in your veins as Nanu leans back leisurely in his seat, scratching at his graying locks.

“Took some persuading,” he begins to explain, ignoring the glare you send his way, “but those _numskulls_ told me everything. The storm, your _recklessness_…” He says that last bit all slow-like, for emphasis, just in case you so conveniently forgot what landed you here in the first place. Your mouth shuts. “Even convinced me to check you into the Pokemon Center to avoid arousing suspicion after they managed to pull you out of the drink. Causing me headaches no matter who you hang out with, huh?”

You’ve simmered down a bit by the time Nanu stops finding hilarity in your misfortune, and your cheeks tinge with a light shade of embarrassment at your previously mentioned behavior. But what was he expecting, really? That you just stand by and ignore someone in need? Yeah, right.

“Hey.”

Nanu’s voice catches your attention again and you spare him a glance. He finds the ceiling much more interesting, but Nanu looks deep in thought, almost wistful, contemplating as you raise your eyebrow in question.

“That kid, Arthur,” he starts and you immediately perk up at the mention of the little boy. “He wanted me to tell you, ‘Thank you.’ Went on and on about how you and Team Skull are his heroes.”

Tears touch the corners of your eyes accompanied by a small, almost bashful smile. “I’m… I’m really glad.”

You can’t wait to tell Guzma, you’re sure he’s bound to get a kick out of-

Oh.

Maybe it’s best not to finish that thought. Your smile fades when you _can’t_ stop thinking about it, when it becomes the _only_ thing you begin to think about as your palms begin to clench in your lap. Would you even get to see him after this? Or is your father waiting for you outside, ready to whisk you back to your family home, eager to continue your set <strike>exploitation</strike> “life plan” that he so _generously_ curated entirely for your benefit?

Most likely; you wouldn’t put it past him.

That would mean no more friends, no privacy, no life and no freedom. Were you _really_ ready to accept that type of fate again?

You already know the answer.

You’re already devising an escape plan when Nanu exhales deeply, sitting up in his chair. “Well, my job here is done,” he says and stands to his full height, approaching the exit of the room. “So if you don’t mind, I got other work I gotta get back to.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “W-wait!” you call out, which has Nanu pausing in the door frame of the room. “What about my- You’re not going to… call my family?”

“Don’t need to,” he replies simply, his back to you. “You’re an adult, right? You can handle yourself. Besides, I think you’ve got a _different_ family that needs you a little more.”

There’s a feeling that blooms in your chest at the words, but you find yourself struggling to give it a name. Was it relief? Was it the feeling of finally having your invisible shackles cut free? Or was it the feeling of finally having a _choice_ to go where you wanted to go, to do what you wanted to do for the first time in… ever? Whatever it was it has tears suddenly misting over your vision, and you pitifully wipe them away with the back of your hand, shielding your face from the kahuna as you blubber, “…th-thank you…”

And though you can’t see him, Nanu smirks. “Don’t say I never did you any favors.” He proceeds to tuck your dossier under his arm to “file” away in the paper shredder later. “I can’t guarantee what’ll happen from here on out, but whatever happens is up to you.”

Sniffling, you nod and manage to smile. “I understand. I won’t let this opportunity go to waste.”

“I know you won’t,” the kahuna nods. “Oh, another thing.”

Making eye contact with Nanu, he motions just past you to the table at your bedside. Following his gaze, you find a neatly wrapped box on its surface, staring at you. You’re surprised you never noticed it in the first place.

“Your sister dropped that off at the station a while back,” he explains as you gingerly grasp the package in your trembling hands, settling it on your lap. “Said that you might need it when-… _if_ we found you. Wasn’t holding out hope for that possibility, though.”

But you can’t find the words to respond. There are so many thoughts swimming in the void of your skull that you don’t know how to voice them all in a span of one second to get the answers you so desperately sought.

Your sister? What? But how? And why?

Nanu shrugs when you beseech him with a pleading look, as if he had all the answers. (He sure _acts_ like it sometimes.)

“Maybe you’ll be able to ask her yourself one day. But until then,” Nanu shows himself out the door, departing with a wave, “stay out of trouble, kid.”

The door clicks closed behind Nanu, leaving you alone in the comforting silence.

Staring at the package in your lap, a mild trepidation overtakes you as you carefully unwrap the parcel, heart hammering quickly at the thought of what could be inside. Disposing of the wrapping reveals a simple, white box with a vanilla envelope on it’s lid, addressed to you in a familiar cursive script that you realize belonged to none other than your younger sister.

You’re suddenly uncertain if you’re ready to face whatever lay within.

Anxiety begins to eat at your chest as you lift the lid, only to find a strangely familiar belt with six perfectly polished Pokeballs attached to the clip inside, gleaming. The two-tone spheres reflect the stars off of their surfaces with how pristine they look and though it takes you a moment, recognition seizes you so fast you nearly stop breathing.

They’re yours. Your team. Your Pokemon.

“Oh my God,” you whisper with watery breath. But you hesitate to reach for them, afraid that if you touch them, they might disappear. After all, you could still be dreaming; it’s all just too good to be true, right?

So instead, your hands fly to the almost-forgotten envelope, nearly tearing it in half in your haste. It reveals two pieces of paper, neatly folded on themselves. You take the first one in hand and unfold it, and after reading a few lines in the hauntingly familiar handwriting, it finally dawns on you.

It’s your note. The one you left behind the night you decided to… leave. The night your life changed forever.

Fingers ghosting over the parchment you feel every crinkle, every notch left in the paper, as if it were read over and over and over again. You didn’t have to guess to figure out who. You unfold it’s counterpart, unsure of its contents. It turns out to be another note, a short one, but written in a scrawl that you immediately recognize as your sister’s.

_With these, I pray that _

_wherever you are,_

_you find your happiness._

Before you can stop it, a sob escapes you, bouncing off the walls of the terribly quiet room. Warmth fills your chest at the bittersweet ache her words bring you, immediately followed by fresh tears that glisten against the moonlight shining through the window. And despite every one of your best efforts to hold them back you still allow them to fall. With a breath and trembling hands, you reach into the box to cradle the belt before bringing it to your chest, clutching the Pokeballs tightly to your chest, and you weep.


End file.
